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

Why did she make him want more for himself?

Talking to that woman with the mouse laugh … it had been grating. Insufferable. Just the thought of being shackled to her for the rest of his life … It had seemed personal in a way it hadn’t before. Whether that was due to Jessica or the wedding being more of a reality, he didn’t know.

“Tell me about your dress,” he said, because he knew it would catch her off guard. It would also redirect his thoughts to her delicious figure, and that was acceptable. The rest, the feeling, was not.

She blinked rapidly a few times. “My dress?”

He started to walk toward the terrace, where dinner was waiting for them. “Yes, your dress. What’s the story behind it? A woman who makes clothing her hobby surely has a story for each item.”

“Yes. Well, but I didn’t think you would be interested.” She was walking behind him, trying to keep pace in her spiky black heels.

He hadn’t thought he would be interested, either. Strangely, he was. “I live to surprise.” He paused at the table and pulled her chair out. “Sit. And tell me.”

She arched one well-shaped brow. “I don’t respond to one-word commands.”

Heat fired through his veins, pooling in his stomach. His answering remark came easily. And it was welcome as it served to mask the intense need that gripped him. “I’ll bet there are a few one-word commands I could get you to respond to.”

She sat quickly and picked up the glass of white wine that was waiting for her, taking a long drink before setting it down and saying, far too brightly, “I found this dress at a charity shop.”

He rounded the table and sat across from her, keeping the chair pushed out a bit. He didn’t trust himself to get too close. And clearly, Jessica didn’t, either. Her change of topic had been about as clumsy and obvious as they came.

She’d picked up the meaning of his words. And he’d driven her to drink. That was an ego boost.

“Go on,” he said.

“It’s from the late forties or early fifties. Sort of business attire.”

“That was business attire?” It was a wonder any work got done.

“Clothing then was so feminine. It didn’t have to be obvious to be sexy, and it didn’t have to be boxy to be respectable. That’s one reason I like it.”

It was certainly that. But then, Jessica would look feminine in a man’s suit. She had curves that simply couldn’t be ignored or concealed.

“It suits you,” he said.

“I’m glad you think so. You looked at me like I had two heads the first couple of days we were together.”

“Did I?”

“Yes.”

“I hope you like fish,” he said, indicating the plate of food. He always opted for simple when he was at the villa. Something from the sea, vegetables from the garden on the property and a basket of bread and olive oil. He had all the formal he could handle in Kyonos. Ceremony and heavy custom, though he’d been born into it, had never seemed to fit him. Just one reason he was always skirting the edge of respectability.

That and a desire—no, a need—to control something about his life.

“I do,” she said. “I didn’t always, but as we’ve discussed, my home state is landlocked, so seafood wasn’t that fresh. And fish out of the river just tastes like a river and it’s not a good experience. Not for me, anyway. Traveling has expanded my horizons in a lot of ways.”

“Was your husband from North Dakota?”

A crease appeared between her eyebrows. “Yes.”

“Is that why you aren’t with him anymore?”

Her mouth dropped open. “No. What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he said. But he had wondered, when she spoke of travel, of not spending time at her home, if her ambitions had grown bigger than the life of a housewife.

“Are you asking if I traded my husband in for—” she waved her fork over her plate “—for fresh seafood?”

“Not in so many words.”

“Well, I didn’t.” She released a heavy breath. “If only it were that simple.”

“It’s not simple?”

“It is now,” she said, stabbing at the white flesh of the fish on her plate. “Because we’re divorced, and he’s my ex-husband, not my husband. So whatever happened between us doesn’t really matter. That’s the beauty of divorce.”

An unfamiliar twinge of guilt stabbed at him. “You wouldn’t be the first person to run from an unhappy situation. To try and find peace somewhere else.” He thought of Xander when he spoke those words. Xander, who had been so miserable. Who had been blamed for the death of their mother. By their father, by their people. And sadly, in the end, by Stavros himself.

“I’m the one who left, if that’s what you want to know,” she said, her voice cold.

His stomach tightened. She’d walked away. He didn’t know the story, he didn’t know her pain. But still, it was so easy for him to judge her. It was his gut reaction. Because he knew what happened when people walked away just because it was too hard.

“Did he mistreat you?” Stavros asked.

She met his gaze, her green eyes glittering. “That’s a loaded question.”

“Seems simple to me.”

“All right, I think he was an ass, but then, I’m his ex-wife.” She looked down. “Really? He’s a moral paragon. You know, he could have taken a lot of money from me. I was the main breadwinner. And he didn’t. He didn’t want it. He just wanted to be free of me. He took the out I gave him and ran.” She pushed her plate back. “I’m not hungry.” She stood and put her napkin on the table. “Thanks, but I’m going to go to bed now.” She turned and walked away, her shoulders stiff.

Stavros wanted to go after her. To grab her arm like he’d done earlier. To soothe her. With a touch. A kiss.

He sucked in long breath, trying to ease the tightness in his chest. To kiss those ruby lips … they would be so soft.

He wanted to offer comfort. To hold her in his arms.

He couldn’t do any of those things.

So he let her go, while his body bitterly regretted every step she took away from him.

Jessica flopped onto the bed and growled fiercely into the empty room. “Way to spill your guts there, Jess,” she scolded herself.

Why had she told him that? Any of that. Yes, he’d pushed the subject of Gil. And yes, it had gotten her hackles up because she didn’t want any judgment from him about her marriage.

But it was hard to talk about it without talking about everything. About the reason things had crumbled. About the pain, the embarrassment. About the bitterness and disappointment laced into every word. About how going to bed at night had been something she’d dreaded. To have to share a bed with someone, maybe even make love with someone, when they were distant at best, disdainful at worst.

About how in the end she’d had to face the hardest, scariest thing she’d ever endured on her own. About how her husband had let her have major surgery without his support, without him there. She’d had to just lie by herself in a hospital bed. Her body had hurt so bad, and her heart had been crumbling into pieces, the victory over her chronic condition costing her her dearest dreams.

And that was when she’d called a lawyer. She hated that. That he’d made her do that. She honestly believed if she hadn’t he would have stayed. Would have punished her by making her live with a man who had grown to hate her.

She closed her eyes and blocked out the memory. As much as she could, she just tried to pretend those moments were a part of someone else’s life. Sometimes it worked. Just not right now.

She stood up and started pacing the length of the room. She was pathetic. And pitiful. And where was her armor when she needed it?

There was a knock on the door and she paused midstride. “Yes?” she asked.

“It’s me.”

The very masculine voice was unmistakable. As was the shiver of excitement that raced through her.

She turned and flung the door open, putting her hand on her hip and shifting her weight so that her hip stuck out, exaggerating the roundness of her curves. “What?”

He only looked at her, his dark eyes glittering. A muscle in his jaw ticked, his shoulders flexed.

They stood for a moment and simply looked at each other.

Then Stavros moved, quickly, decisively, and pulled her up against the hard wall of his chest. He dipped his head and his lips met hers. Hot. Hungry.

So good.

She clung to the door with one hand, her other hand extended next to her, balled into a fist as Stavros kissed her, his hands roaming over her back, his tongue tracing the outline of her lips. And when it dipped inside, slid against her tongue, that was when she released her hold on the door and locked her arms around his neck, forking her fingers through his hair.

He turned her so that her back was against the door frame, his hands moving to her waist.

Oh, yes, she wanted this. All of it. More.

She moved her hands to his shoulders, let them roam over his back. He was hot and strong, his muscles shifting beneath her fingertips. His shirt felt too thick, scratchy on her skin. She wanted to pull it off of him. She arched against him, her breasts pressing against his chest, and she became aware of just how present her dress was. How much of an impediment it was.

They needed to get rid of their clothes.

She moved her hands around to his chest, toyed with the first button on his dress shirt. He growled, a masculine, feral sound that she’d never associated with sex, but that made her entire body tighten with need.

Being with Stavros wouldn’t be like any experience she’d had before. Not even close. Being with Stavros would be …

A really bad idea.

She froze, their lips still connected, her fingers curled into the fabric on his shirt. “Stop,” she said.

He did. Immediately. He moved away from her, his expression as dazed as she felt. “That’s not what I came up here for.”

“What did you come up here for?” she asked, her words shaky, her entire body shaky.

“I … don’t know.” He sounded shocked. Dumbfounded. She wasn’t sure if it was a comfort or an insult.

“But not for … that?”

He shook his head. “I’d ruled that out as a possibility.”

“But you’d … thought about it?”

“Not a good question.”

“You’re right about that.”

He took a step away from her. “It’s understandable that we’re attracted to each other.”

“Totally,” she said.

“But that doesn’t mean we can act on it.”

“No,” she said, while her body screamed at her to change her answer.

And what would happen if she did? Professional suicide. And for what?

Sex for her had become all about failure. About shortcomings. All of hers on display when she was literally naked and as vulnerable as she could possibly be. She couldn’t get pregnant. She couldn’t even orgasm properly. As her husband had told her during one particularly ugly argument, there was literally no point in having sex with her. He’d said at the time his right hand was better company.

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t,” she said, her lip curling in disgust, her body rebelling. “Don’t apologize for kissing me, please, that’s just … I’m not going to let you do that. Act like there was something … wrong with it.” There was always something wrong.

“It was inappropriate.”

Annoyance spiked inside her. “You’re acting like you compromised my maidenly virtue, or something. That’s long gone so you don’t need to worry.”

“You are working for me right now.”

“Not exactly.”

“No matter what, it was wrong of me to do it. You’re trying to help me find a wife, I’m paying you to do it. I have no right to charge in your room and kiss you.”

“I kissed you back,” she said, crossing her arms beneath her breasts, unwilling, unable to back down. Because she would not be treated like she was a victim in this. She was tired of being a victim. And she would not show him how much she was affected by it, either.

His expression was almost pained. “Don’t remind me.”

“That good?”

“If you keep talking I’ll be tempted to kiss you again simply to quiet you down.”

“You say the sweetest things, Prince Stavros. I am pudding at your feet.” Oh, she could have cried. She was so relieved to have those sassy words fall out of her mouth. She needed them. Needed the distance and protection they would provide.

His jaw tensed, his lips, so soft and sensual a moment before, thinned. “You are … infuriating.”

“And you like it,” she said. “Wonder what that says about you?”

For a moment, he looked like he might grab her again. Might pull her up against his hard body and press his lips to hers.

Instead, he turned away from her.

“I’m going to call the girls. See when they can come out here. You’re paying, naturally,” she said. She didn’t know why she’d chosen to tell him that. Only that the temptation to make him stay a bit longer had been stronger than it should have been.

He stopped and turned. “Naturally.”

“See you tomorrow then.”

“I’ll be busy.”

“So will I. I have other clients to do consultations with.” She was still stalling. Still trying to keep him close.

He ignored her last statement and turned away again, heading down the hall. She let out a breath and walked back into her room, shutting the door behind her.

She picked up her iPad and opened up her file for Stavros.

Good kisser. Amazing body.

She deleted both as soon as she wrote them. If only she could delete it from her memory so easily.

CHAPTER SIX

THE women had arrived. Victoria, Amy and Cherry. Beautiful, polished and royal. They were wearing sleek, expensive-looking clothing, their hair perfectly coiffed, their makeup expertly applied.

They were perfectly beautiful. Perfectly boring.

Stavros surveyed the three women in their spot on the balcony. He felt like he was being featured on a bad reality television show. It was suddenly hard to breathe.

He’d been around some in his thirty-three years. Some people might call him a playboy, he preferred to think he was taking advantage of the physical while ignoring the emotional. Even so, facing three women who had marriage on their minds was out of his realm of experience.

Jessica was not out there with him, not there to run interference and give him a time limit for how long each woman could speak to him.

Victoria spoke first. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said. “I apologize if you weren’t expecting me … us.” He could tell she was irritated to be sharing the terrace with the other two women, who clearly felt the same way she did.

“Of course you were expected,” he said, opting for diplomacy. Though he hoped, fervently, that they were staying at a hotel in Piraeus and not in the villa. Two was company, five would be a nightmare.

Especially considering that kiss he’d shared with Jessica and all the options it was making him contemplate. Again.

Victoria smiled, saccharine and a bit false, though, again given the situation, he hardly blamed her. His own smile was just as fake.

Cherry—at least he was assuming she was Cherry based on Jessica’s description—spoke next. “I waited down at the airport for quite a while.”

“I apologize,” he said.

“I didn’t have to wait,” Victoria said, her expression a bit superior as she looked at the other two women.

“Because your plane landed last,” Amy said, sniffing slightly.

He heard the click of high heels behind him and turned, a rush of heat filling him as Jessica came walking out onto the terrace.

“Sorry, ladies, I didn’t realize you’d arrived.” She smiled widely and he could sense the women in front of him relaxing as Jessica drew closer. She put her hands on her hips, pushing her full skirt in, revealing a bit of those luscious curves. “I had told the driver to bring you to your hotel. I apologize for the confusion.”

Efharisto con theo.

He didn’t want three women, all vying for position as queen, under the same roof. At least not one he was beneath. Not a very good thought to have, since it was very possible one of the three could be sharing his home, his bed, for the rest of their lives.

They could spend the rest of their lives smiling falsely at each other. He didn’t know where the thought came from, and he didn’t know why it filled him with an emotion that he could only identify as terror.

He appraised the three sleek women in front of him. All different in coloring, height and shape. He tried, he tried very hard, to find one that appealed to him more than the others.

A blonde, a brunette and a redhead …

He could not find anything especially appealing.

Until Jessica appeared on the balcony. That made fire in his blood, heat pooling in his gut, coursing down to his groin. His lips burned with the memory of her kiss. Just a kiss. Something that, for a man of his experience, should mean nothing. And yet, it had seemed the height of sensuality. The pinnacle of pleasure.

More than that, his heart had burned. And it hadn’t hurt. It hadn’t been unpleasant at all. He didn’t know what that meant.

“Since you’re here, I think we should have a drink before you’re taken back into the city.” Jessica was in control, her smile unshakable, her composure solid. “Does that suit?”

Amy looked like she might protest, about the drink or being taken back into the city, but instead, she nodded along with the others. Jessica turned and went back into the villa, undoubtedly to give the order for drinks to be served.

The three women stared at him, doe-eyed. An indistinct blur of beauty that meant nothing more to him than the scenery. Possibly less. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said, turning and following Jessica. “Jessica …”

She whirled around, hands on her head. “I am so sorry.”

“You are?”

“Yes. I don’t really like all the three of the women to be together and … this … all right, this isn’t really going according to my system. But it’s okay. We’ll improvise. We’ll all have a drink, we’ll chat, tomorrow you can choose one to go on a dinner date with. Does that work?”

“Fine,” he said, amused by how quickly her composure had evaporated once they were out of sight of the other women.

“Really, this just makes it all seem a bit …”

“Like a reality television show?”

“Yes. And also a bit crass. And I’m sorry. But they all know the drill, so while it’s awkward, they knew that they weren’t the only people who had put in to be considered for this match.”

He leaned against the wall. “So how exactly do women find you?”

“I advertise. In a discreet manner of course, but I’ve managed to put together a select group of men and women. When someone comes to me looking for a match, I let those who meet the qualifications know, and then they respond and let me know if they’re interested. Simple.”

“In a complex sort of way.”

She raised both eyebrows, her expression haughty. “Well, it works anyway.”

“So how many of these women you’ve shown me haven’t made the final cut with other men?”

She sniffed. “Almost all of them. Where is the wine?”

“Which ones?”

“Only Victoria has never asked to be entered in for consideration yet. You were the first one she showed interest in.”

“Setting her sights high?”

She kept her focus on her hunt for beverages. “Wine?”

“I mean that as far as status goes, not really saying I surpass the other men in terms of other qualities.”

“Right. Where is the wine?”

He chuckled and reached behind her, pulling a bottle from the built in rack above her head. “Will a merlot do?” He took glasses from the rack as well, holding them by the stems.

“Fine.” She reached up and took the bottle from his hand, then tilted it in his direction. “We should …” She gestured in the direction of the terrace. “Because I don’t want them to scratch each other’s eyes out or anything.”

“Remind me again why you thought this would be a good idea?”

She frowned. “Well, it seemed logical. It sort of followed how I do things … it’s just … it not being a big event sort of closes everything in a bit more.”

“Yeah.”

He took the bottle from her hand and led the way back out onto the terrace. Victoria, Cherry and Amy were standing at the far end of the terrace, a healthy bit of distance between each them so that they didn’t have to engage in conversation with one another.

He set the glasses down on a small round bistro table and opened the bottle, pouring a substantial portion into each glass.

“Drinks,” he said, lifting one for himself. They would need them.

The women advanced and each took their wine. The silence was awkward, oppressive. He hated this, he was starting to realize. It was the first thing he could remember hating in a long time. He hadn’t had an emotion so strong in … years.

He hadn’t thought he would mind this situation. Because he didn’t want a wife, not in a particular sense. Marriage for him would be something he did for his country. A distant affair, and that was how it had to be. He knew—he’d seen—that love, emotional attachment, could overpower strong men. Bring them to their knees. And if those men were in control of the country, they could bring the country down with them.

That was why he had to do it this way. That was why he had to keep everyone at a distance. Why he had to find a wife who would matter to the country, not to him.

Still, even with that in mind, being in the middle of the matchmaking process was as enjoyable as being boiled alive. His flirtatious manner was harder to hold on to than he could ever remember it being before.

Ultimately, it was Jessica, her quick wit and sparkling laugh, that saved the night. She engaged everyone in conversation and managed to make things seem easy. Easier at least.

By the time his marriage candidates had been sent off in the limo, the knot in his gut had eased. Though, it could have been due to the wine and not just Jessica’s lightning-quick wit.

As soon as the women were out of sight Jessica let out a loud breath and lifted her wineglass to her lips, tilting her head back and knocking the rest of the contents in. “That was vile. Worse than vile.”

“You’re good at covering up how you feel.”

“So are you,” she said. “Image. It’s important to both of us, right?”

“I have to put on a good front for my people.” Except he hadn’t thought of it as a front before. He’d simply thought of himself as empty of anything but confidence. Empty of anything unimportant. If something needed to be done, he saw it done.

“And I have to put on a calm front for my clients.”

“Then why is it you’re letting me in on just how stressed out that made you?”

She grimaced. “Well, for all intents and purposes, we’re roommates at the moment and I have to let my hair down at some point in the day, so to speak. For another, you’ve licked my lips and that puts you slightly over the line of ‘usual client.’ Slightly.”

“You don’t let all your clients lick your lips?” he asked. A strange tightness invaded his chest, his stomach. Jealousy.

Possessiveness. The image of all of her clients getting the sort of special treatment he had been on the receiving end of made him want to pull her to him again, to make sure she didn’t forget what it was like to be kissed by him. To make sure she never forgot.

That was as foreign as all the other emotions she’d brought out in him over the past few days. Jealousy implied some sort of special connection, and a fear of that connection being threatened.

He gritted his teeth, fought against the tightness in his chest. Flirting. That would put the distance back between them. Something light. Sexual.

“Hardly,” she said. Unable to read his mood, she kept her tone casual. “Indulge me, though, since I’ve now confessed that I don’t kiss my other clients. What exactly are you hiding?” She tilted her head, her green eyes assessing. Far too assessing for his taste. Too sincere.