Irresistible Greeks: Unsuitable and Unforgettable: At His Majesty's Request / The Fallen Greek Bride / Forgiven but not Forgotten?

But being with them didn’t evoke this same strange faux-date feel that being with Stavros did. It was that darned attraction.

She opened her purse and pulled out her iPad. “So, I know we were going to talk about specific women to have come to your sister’s wedding.”

“Were we? Now?” He curled his hands into fists on the table, his knuckles turning white. It was hard for her to look away from his hands, from the obvious strain. His face remained passive, easy, but his manner betrayed him.

“Well, no, but I wasn’t expecting to see you until tomorrow, so … no. But we can talk about it now. I’ve had a chance to think about what you’ve told me and I’ve been through my system. I also called two of the three women I’m thinking of and if you’re agreeable to them, they’re willing to come for consideration.”

“This is like an old-fashioned marriage mart.”

“Well, these sorts of marriages are,” she said. Strangely, she felt like comforting him. She didn’t know why. “Granted, you’re the first actual prince I’ve worked with. But I’ve dealt with lesser royals. Billionaires with an interest in preserving their fortunes. Women with family money who wanted an alliance with businessmen who could help them make the most of their assets. People have all kinds of reasons for choosing to go about things this way. Some of these women have money, but no title, while others have a title but are … low on funds.”

“Ah. A title, but no money and a need for a husband with wealth.”

“Some of them. Though this one …” She pulled up a picture of a smiling blonde. “Victoria Calder. She’s English, from a very well-to-do family. She’s not titled but she’s wealthy. She’s been to the best schools. She has her own money and she donates a lot of it to charities. As far as my research has taken me, and it took me to the far and seedy recesses of the internet, her reputation is as spotless as a sacrificial lamb. So if a prominent title isn’t important …”

“As long as you think she would be suitable to the position, she can be considered.”

“So basically fertile and scandal-free. And able to handle public appearances with grace and poise, of course.”

Stavros took the tablet from Jessica’s hand and looked at the photo of the woman on the screen. She was beautiful. More than beautiful, really. He couldn’t find fault with her features. A small, pert nose, pretty, well-shaped lips, rosy cheeks, pale blue eyes.

Yet she did nothing for him. She didn’t stir his blood. She didn’t interest him. More than that, just looking at her made his throat feel like it was tightening. The impression of a noose.

He preferred Jessica’s face. Her longer nose, fuller lips, cat green eyes that tilted at the corners. And her figure … she was like a pin-up girl.

He wondered, not too briefly, if she favored old-fashioned undergarments to go with her vintage dresses. Stockings and garters.

That caused a surge of blood to pump south of his belt. She was a distraction. A temptation. A welcome one, in many ways.

“Yes.” He shouldn’t be allowing distraction now. He had to focus on finding his bride.

Though, Ms. Jessica Carter would make an intriguing lover. She was all soft curves and pale skin. But her eyes … they showed a fire he imagined she set free in the bedroom. She was spicy, her tongue always ready to flay the skin cleanly off the bone if necessary.

Just as she’d pronounced his commanding personality a plus in bedroom activities, he imagined her sharp mind and bold tongue would earn her points in her own BA category.

It would be so sweet. So good. And a welcome distraction from the marriage talk.

“Anyway,” Jessica continued, pulling him from his fantasy, “she’s one I would like to invite to your sister’s wedding.”

“And she’s aware of just what she’ll be invited for?”

Jessica nodded. “Yes. All of the women I’m working with have come to me, seeking out husbands that are suitable to their backgrounds and financial level, just the same as you.”

“I see. So invariably my future wife will be after a title and wealth—” he looked at the photo of the blonde again “—just as I am.”

“Fair is fair. You both know just what you’re getting into. No false expectations. Not if I can help it.”

“No false expectations? Then can I assume you’re including a list of my faults in the file you’ll be sending on to the women involved?”

“Only if they make it past a certain point in the process. Discretion,” she said.

“Of course.” He looked at her face, illuminated and washed gold by the afternoon sun. She was beautiful. Not due to perfection of features, or from the expertly applied makeup, though. Her features were beautiful, and her makeup was expertly done. But it was something more. Something deeper.

She was captivating. Different.

Sexy.

His stomach tightened. “And the first wave of the process begins at my sister’s wedding.”

“That’s right. Is that okay? Or do you feel it will detract from—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted. It was strange to think of Evangelina married. To think of her as a woman rather than a little girl. “My sister is in love,” he said.

“That’s good. Since she’s getting married.”

He gave her a look. “But you know that’s not really how things work around here. Not necessarily.”

“True.”

“She was meant to marry for the good of Kyonos. She is marrying her bodyguard instead.”

“Are you angry about it?” she asked, her eyes meeting his, the glittering green light in them far too perceptive.

“Not in the least. Anger is a completely unproductive emotion.” As were most emotions. He’s witnessed it firsthand. He made sure he didn’t have time for them.

“But that leaves only you.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I can do it.”

“And your brother …”

“Might as well be dead. He doesn’t care for his country. He doesn’t care for his family, his people. He might as well have died with our mother.” The words tasted bitter on his tongue and he wished he had some ouzo to wash it out with. Bitterness wasn’t helpful, either.

As if on command, a waiter appeared with a tray, laden with food and drinks, and set them down on their table. Stavros took the drink first, while Jessica picked up a stuffed grape leaf and turned it in her fingers.

He took a quick hit of the strong alcohol. “I’m happy for Eva. And her husband does bring a lot to the country in terms of assets and security. Mak is a billionaire several times over. She’s hardly marrying beneath herself, even if he isn’t royalty.”

Beneath Stavros’s casual manner, Jessica could sense his dark mood. He was very good at playing smooth, very good at coming across as the genial prince. Ready to smile for a photograph. Never caught scowling by a scandal-hungry public, who would latch onto the salacious headline declaring one grumpy expression proof of some sort of national crisis.

And yet, she could feel that something wasn’t right. That there was something beneath it.

He was the last man standing. The anchor. How could he not feel it? Of course he would. His sister had abandoned her duty for love, his brother had abandoned it for selfish, personal pleasure. It was only Stavros now.

She felt added pressure. She couldn’t imagine that he didn’t.

“Well, we’ll find you a royal bride who suits the needs of Kyonos, and you, perfectly,” she said, injecting a confidence and enthusiasm into her voice she wasn’t sure she felt.

A half smile curved his lips, a shaft of sunlight hitting his face, that single moment displaying the breathtaking quality he possessed to its very best effect.

She certainly felt as if her breath had been taken. Ripped straight from her lungs. Why did he have to be so hot? More to the point, why did she have to suddenly care how hot he was?

She looked back down at her iPad, at the picture of Victoria Calder. And for the first time ever, she felt her stomach curl in with jealousy in connection with a client.

It was the first and last time it would happen. She couldn’t afford it. Not financially, and most especially not emotionally.

She’d already had everything drained from her in that department. She would never put herself through it again.

CHAPTER THREE

JESSICA tried not to die of despair as she watched one of her favorite potential brides, Dominique Lanphier, standing by the buffet table looking like a deer in the headlights. She was sort of fidgeting, looking as if she was ready to dart away from the table at a moment’s notice and grab Stavros from Corinthia, the petite redhead he was currently engaging in approved conversation with.

This wasn’t her best idea. She could see that now. It was just a pity she was realizing it far too late to change anything. Her prospective brides, normally so well-behaved, were a bit giddy over the chance to compete for a prince and all of the good manners that had been bred into them seemed to have been knocked from their heads the moment they’d entered the palace.

Jessica was sweating. Actually sweating. And trying not to look like anything more than a guest. Which, in the grand ballroom, filled to maximum capacity with nearly one thousand people, shouldn’t be too hard.

Victoria, her best hope for Stavros, had been unavailable for the wedding, which had forced her to bring in Dominique as a last-minute replacement. Something she was bitterly regretting.

“Just stay there,” she whispered, begging Dominique to go with the program, hoping the other woman would absorb the command from across the room.

It just seemed to be getting hotter in the ballroom now, and she could swear the sweetheart neckline of her flirty cocktail dress was about to slip and go from sexy to burlesque. And that would draw far more attention to herself than she wanted.

She gripped the sides of the bodice and tugged at it slightly. Feeling, for a moment, every inch the unsophisticated North Dakota girl she was on the inside. Feeling her persona start to slip.

No. You are not unsophisticated. You are a businesswoman. You are in a castle. Own your inner princess!

Yes. Inner princess. She was sure she had one of those.

She took a deep breath and felt a bit of her anxiety ease as Stavros checked his watch and disengaged Corinthia right on time. Any longer and there would be speculation. And now, he would go to the buffet and it would be Dominique’s turn.

This sort of brief, public meeting, was, in her experience, the perfect way to open. To see people interact in a social situation, to prevent a feeling of enhanced intimacy too quickly.

She had to remind herself of all the reasons it was a good idea now, since she was on the verge of panicking and eating her weight in wedding cake to try and stave off the anxiety. This was what she did. This was her one area of confidence, of expertise. And watching it go very much not according to plan was crazy-making.

The transition went smoothly and she watched Stavros engage Dominique in conversation. So casual it could have been accidental. He was good.

She watched as he leaned in, his body language indicating interest, the smile on his face warm. Genuine. Her throat tightened a bit, and cut off the flow of air entirely when he brushed Dominique’s arm with his hand.

Such a brief touch. And yet, it spoke of attraction.

He hadn’t touched her. Not more than a handshake. And that brief touch at the restaurant. She shouldn’t have a list of the times his skin had made contact with hers. It shouldn’t matter that he was touching someone else.

It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t. She was here to try and match him with one of these women. This choking jealousy had no place in it. Jealousy was an awful emotion. Consuming. It brought out the worst in people, in her particularly.

When she’d found out Gil was getting married again. When she’d found out his wife was pregnant.

A prickle of shame spread from her scalp through her body.

She shouldn’t be jealous of Gil’s wife. Of her ability to give birth. It was small and petty. If he couldn’t find happiness with her, he should be free to find it with someone else.

The thing that sucked was that he’d found the happiness she’d wanted. He’d been able to move on and get all of the hopes and dreams they’d built their marriage on. He’d been able to leave her.

She couldn’t leave herself.

Her body was her body. Her limitations wouldn’t change with a new partner. Moving on for her meant something very different than it had for her ex. Moving on meant rebuilding, finding new dreams. She was happy. She had a successful business. She was financially solvent and she was matchmaking for a prince, for heaven’s sake.

A prince she should have no feelings for at all. And certainly not any kind of longing type feelings.

Crazy was what it was. Crazy.

Stavros’s time with Dominique closed and he made a polite exit, not lingering for a moment longer. Which suggested he couldn’t have gotten too lost in her eyes or anything.

She should not feel satisfied by that.

She felt her stomach free-fall when Stavros changed course suddenly and started walking toward her. His movements easy, his manner approachable. And several people did approach him. He managed to make everyone feel he’d expended attention on them without actually taking much time, barely halting his movement. Every so often, his dark eyes would land on her, leaving her in no doubt that she was his destination.

And, well, he was a prince, and he was a client. So she wasn’t going to dodge him.

She stood, rooted to the spot, until Stavros stopped in front of her. “I’d love a word with you in private,” he said.

She looked around. “As long as we don’t draw attention. I’m hardly the most recognizable face in the world but …”

“Come,” he said. Taking her hand and striding toward the ballroom’s exit, his gait much more purposeful than it had been a moment ago.

She snagged a glass of champagne off of a passing waiter’s tray and followed him out. “Wait. I’m in heels,” she said, taking quick, tottering steps out into the corridor. She flashed a passing guest a smile and tried to match Stavros’s pace. “Hey, Tarzan. Me not Jane. You no drag me out by the hair.”

He ignored her, continuing to walk down the hall until he came to an ornate wood door that she recognized as the entrance to his office. She never would have found it by herself. Not in the maze of halls the Kyonosian palace boasted. He released her hand, entered in a code and pushed the door open. “Come in,” he said.

She shot him a look and walked into the room, wiping her hand on the tulle skirt of her gown, trying to get rid of the heated feeling that his touch had left behind. She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, pushed her cleavage up into prominence, then thought better of it when she realized just how prominent it was.

She put her hands on her hips. “What’s up?”

“None of them were acceptable,” he said.

“None?”

“No.”

“But … but …” she sputtered. “What about Dominique? You touched her arm.”

He shrugged. “I know how to flirt.”

“Well, yeah, I know, I yelled at you for it a while back. But why flirt if you aren’t going to follow up?”

He frowned. “Did you just imply that I am a … tease?”

“Yeah. A marriage tease. Why feign interest if you don’t feel any?”

“I’m not seeking to hurt anyone’s feelings,” he said dryly. “I could hardly stand there and act bored. And anyway, that begs the question why you would send me such dull women.”

“Dull? Dominique is a beauty queen, Corinthia is a doctor, for heaven’s sake, and Samantha …”

“Had the most annoying laugh.”

“All right. Yes, her laugh is kind of annoying. But it’s sort of endearing.”

“No. It’s not.”

“You’re being unkind.”

“Maybe. But I don’t have forever to find a wife, and you were supposed to be the best.”

“I am,” she said. “I can find you a wife. Anyway, I didn’t think your personal preferences came into it.”

“I don’t want to be … irritated into an early grave by a woman who laughs at all my jokes, even when they aren’t funny, or by one who can’t seem to make conversation about anything other than the weather.”

“That’s called small talk. It’s how people get to know each other,” she said.

“Boring.” He waved a hand as if dismissing the concept. “Talk about world events. Something other than the ‘balmy evening.’”

“So marriage is more to you than you said. Glad to hear it.”

“I am not glad that you presented me with unacceptable candidates. This is not about … meaning, or emotions. This is about … I have to be able to stand the woman I marry.”

“You really are being ridiculous. They weren’t unacceptable. What’s the problem? You didn’t find them attractive?”

“They were attractive. But I was not attracted to any of them.”

“You say that like it’s my fault.”

“It is,” he said, whirling around to face her. His dark gaze slid down to her breasts and her own followed.

She looked back up at him. “Elaborate,” she said, teeth gritted.

“You expect that you can show up in that dress, and I can focus on other women?”

“What’s wrong with my dress?” She gripped the full, tulle skirt reflexively.

“Other than the fact that you’re showing off much more of your breasts than any straight man could be expected to ignore? It also shows your legs. This was a formal wedding. Every other woman, including the ones I was speaking to, had on long gowns. You … you …”

“This dress comes to my knees. And I didn’t realize you were a fourteen-year-old boy masquerading as a prince.”

The insult rolled off her tongue, because what he was saying felt far too good. She wanted to turn it over in her mind, to savor it. To pretend that it was for her and that it mattered. To bask in being seen as pretty instead of broken.

The thought made her so annoyed with herself she wanted to scream.

He took a step toward her, and she sucked in a breath, holding her ground. He leaned in, his face close to hers, dark eyes intense. “I can assure you, I am not a boy.”

She swallowed, fought the urge to put her hand on his cheek and see if the faint, dark shadow there was rough yet. “I believe it.”

“Then do not test me.” His eyes held hers, her heart threatening to beat clean through her chest. She pulled away, her breathing shallow.

Stavros turned away from her. She stood in the middle of his office as he paced, each movement languid and deadly. Her heart was pounding, her body shaking. She’d known that he couldn’t possibly be so easy, so relaxed. Beneath that charm lurked the soul of a predator. The deadliest sort, because he knew how to portray an air of complete and utter harmlessness.

Stavros Drakos was anything but harmless. How had she not seen it? How had she assumed he was all flirtation and ease?

And had he … had he really just confessed to finding her cleavage distracting? She looked down again and felt a small flush of pride creep into her cheeks. It had been a long time since she’d been able to feel anything overly positive in connection with her body.

It was nice to have a man look at her and simply see a woman.

It might be a facade, a trick, but it didn’t really matter. Stavros would never have to get closer. Would never have to know the truth, or deal with the fallout of it.

But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t enjoy it. Just for a moment.

“I wasn’t intending to,” she said.

He stopped moving. “You cannot be ignorant of how you look. You outshone the bride.”

She couldn’t believe that. Not seriously. Princess Evangelina was a great beauty. Olive skin, long dark hair and a slender figure. In her wedding gown, she was unsurpassable. Plus, the princess was only twenty-one. She didn’t have the years Jessica had on her body. Didn’t have the scars.

“I doubt that,” she said.

“My eyes were on you most of the time.”

Heat rushed up her neck and into her face, then spread down over her breasts. “We should not be having this conversation.”

“We should. Because if you’re going to be present at all of my meetings with potential fiancées, you need to dress more suitably.”

“I will dress how I please, Prince Stavros,” she said, feeling her hackles rise. She really didn’t do backed into a corner well, and, at the moment, she felt backed into a corner.

Stavros felt his pulse pounding in his neck, all of his blood rushing south of his belt. He’d been fighting to urge to go and pull Jessica into his arms and kiss her lips, kiss the swells of her breasts where they rose up over that gown. That ridiculous gown that made her look like every man’s midnight fantasy.

He’d tried to focus on the women, the bridal candidates. But they’d seemed … insipid. Young. They hadn’t interested him. They certainly hadn’t stirred his body. Not in the way Jessica did. And that was not part of tonight’s plan.

But when she’d walked into the ballroom tonight, it was as though a switch had flipped inside of him.

Lust had ignited in him like fire, the need to see her curves, those gorgeous curves, without a dress covering them. It made him want to press her against the wall and push all that frilly netting aside. To make her scream with the kind of desire that seemed to be actively trying to eat him alive every time she was around.

He was better than this. He mastered his desires. He directed them where he wanted, when he wanted to express them.

“Has anyone ever told you that you are very stubborn?” he growled.

“It’s probably been said to me as many times as it’s been said to you. Actually, I imagine I’ve heard it more, since people probably don’t stand up to you very often.”

That much was true. But she stood up to him, and she did it without compunction. Yes, she had a reputation for being this bullheaded, but he hadn’t expected she would truly treat him in the same way she did every other client.

His expectation had been wrong.

“Fair enough then,” he said. “But I do expect you to do as I ask.”

“Then I expect you might find yourself disappointed.”

“You are supposed to be working for me,” he said, not sure where this urge to push her was coming from. But that was what he was doing. Pushing her. Daring her.

“If that’s how you feel, you can hunt for your own wife. But we both know you don’t want that.”

“I’m not sure I want this.” The closest he’d ever come to voicing the truth to anyone.

“But you will.” She was so certain. And she was right. Emotion had no place in this. It had no place in him.

He crossed his arms. “You have other candidates?”

“You still haven’t met Victoria. And there are others.”

She shifted and so did her cleavage. A flame licked at his body, igniting desire. Arousal.

“We can discuss it further later. Shall we go back to the wedding?”

“Yes.”

She pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow. “And will you be civilized?”

A loaded question, and one he was certain applied to more than just tonight. An answer he wasn’t certain of. “I suppose you’ll have to take your chances. Are you willing to do that?”

He extended his arm and she didn’t move for a beat. Then she took a step to him and looped her arm through his. “You don’t worry me too much, Stavros.”

He felt a kick in his gut, a purely masculine part of himself taking her words as a challenge. He stopped, turning to face her. Her green eyes widened, lips parting.

“You trust me?” he asked, his heart thundering.

Her eyes drifted to his mouth before raising up to meet his. “Yes.”

“Ah, but, Ms. Carter, I’m not certain I trust myself. You certainly shouldn’t be putting any trust in me.”

It was nothing. Just a little lust. Nothing deeper than any other attraction he’d felt. It was a direct result of his long bout of celibacy. He would meet more women. Find the one he was supposed to marry, and then he could focus all of his desire on her.