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Without her warmth, Stavros again felt the winter chill beneath his tuxedo jacket. The world became a darker place, freezing him, reminding him he’d soon feel nothing at all. He stood very still, watching her. Then he lifted his face to the sky, wondering if this would be the last time he’d feel snowflakes on his skin.
If only he could have at least left a child behind. He suddenly wanted that so badly it hurt. If only he could have left some memory of his existence on earth.
But the women he knew were as ambitious and heartless as he was. He couldn’t leave an innocent child in their care. Children needed someone willing to put their needs above her own. He knew no woman like that. None at all.
Then he heard a laugh of pure delight, and Stavros looked down at Holly Marlowe’s beautiful, shining, tenderhearted eyes.
“Can you believe it?” Stretching her arms wide, laughing like a child, she whirled in a circle, holding out her tongue to taste the snowflakes. She looked like an angel. Her eyes danced as she cried, “It’s snowing at my sister’s wedding! On Christmas Eve!”
And all of the busy avenue, the tourists, the horse-drawn carriages, the taxis blaring Christmas music, faded into the background. Stavros saw only her.
CHAPTER TWO (#uc5e2b33c-1779-5108-a22f-f92e4bd74945)
THE GRAND TWO-STORY hotel ballroom was a winter wonderland, filled with white-and-silver Christmas trees twinkling like stars. Each of the twenty big round tables had centerpieces of red roses, deep scarlet against the white. It was even more beautiful than Holly had dreamed. A lump rose in her throat as she slowly looked around her.
She’d imagined a wedding reception like this long ago, as a lonely nineteen-year-old, cutting out photographs from magazines and putting them in an idea book each night while her little sister slept in the dark apartment. Holly had been alone, her friends all in college or partying in clubs.
Holly didn’t regret her choice to give up her college scholarship and come home. After their parents had died in the car accident on their anniversary, she’d known she couldn’t leave Nicole to foster care. But sometimes, she’d felt so trapped, chained by the responsibilities of love. She’d felt so lonely, without a partner, and with a teenaged sister who’d often shouted at Holly in her own grief and frustrated rage.
So to comfort herself, Holly had created the dream book. It had kept her company, until Nicole had left for college three years ago, and Holly had started working for Oliver.
In her romantic fantasy of long ago, she’d always imagined she’d be the bride in the white princess dress, dancing with an adoring groom. Now, as she watched Nicole and Oliver dance their first dance as husband and wife, surrounded by all their adoring friends, she told herself she’d never been so happy.
“They really do make a perfect couple.” Stavros’s low, husky voice spoke beside her. Somehow, his tone made the words less than complimentary.
“Yes,” Holly said, moving slightly to make sure they didn’t accidentally touch. When he’d helped her from the limo earlier, her whole body had trembled. It was totally ridiculous. She was sure Stavros Minos hadn’t felt anything. Why would he? While Holly, hours later, still felt burning hot, lit up from within, whenever the Greek billionaire drew close. Whenever he even looked at her. She had to get ahold of herself, if she was going to be his assistant!
What was wrong with her? Holly didn’t understand. How could she feel so—so aware of Stavros, when she was in love with Oliver?
She was, wasn’t she?
But she didn’t want to love Oliver anymore. It had done nothing but hurt her. And now he was her brother-in-law, it felt slimy and wrong. She wanted to reach inside her soul and turn off her feelings like a light—
“You arranged the reception, too, didn’t you?” Stavros said, looking at the Christmas fantasy around them.
She forced herself to smile. “I wanted my sister to have a dream wedding. I did my best.”
Stavros abruptly turned to look at the happy couple, dancing now in front of the largest white-flocked tree, decorated with white lights and silver stars. He took a long drink of the amber-colored liquid he’d gotten from the open bar. “You are a good person.”
Again, the words should have been a compliment, but they weren’t. Not the way he said them. She tried to read his expression, but his darkly handsome face was inscrutable. She shook her head. “You must hate all this.”
“This?”
“Being best man at a wedding.” Holly shrugged. “You’re the most famously commitment-phobic bachelor in the city.”
He took another deliberate drink. “Let’s just say love is something I’ve never had the good fortune to experience.”
More irony, she thought. Then his black eyes burned through her, reminding her he knew about her secret love for Oliver. Her cheeks burned.
Looking toward the beautiful bride and handsome groom slow-dancing in the center of the ballroom, the very picture of fairy-tale love, she mumbled, “You’re right. They do make a perfect couple.”
“Stop it,” he said sharply, as if he was personally annoyed.
“Stop what?”
“Take off the rose-colored glasses.”
Her mouth dropped. “What?”
“You’d have to be stupid to love Oliver. And whatever you are, Miss Marlowe, you’re not stupid.”
The conversation had taken a strangely personal turn. Her heart pounded. But there seemed no point in trying to lie. She’d never dared to give voice to her feelings before. She whispered, “How did you guess?”
He rolled his eyes. “You wear your heart on your face.” He paused. “I’m sure Oliver knows exactly how you feel.”
Horror went through her. “Oh, no—he couldn’t possibly—”
“Of course he knows,” Stavros said brutally. “How else could he have taken advantage of you all these years?”
“Advantage?” Astonished, she looked up at him. “Of me?”
He looked down at her seriously. “I have ten thousand employees around the world. And from what everyone tells me, you’re the hardest working one.”
“Mr. Minos—”
“Call me Stavros,” he ordered.
“Stavros.” She blushed. “I’m sure that’s not true. I go home at six every night—”
“Yes, home to do Oliver’s paperwork. Never asking for a raise, even though you were paying for your sister to go to college. Which, by the way, she could have gotten a job and paid for herself.”
Her blush deepened in confusion. “I take care of my sister because—because she’s my responsibility. I take care of Oliver because, because,” she continued, faltering, “I’m his employee. At least I was…”
“And because you’re in love with him.”
“Yes,” she whispered, her heart in her throat.
“And now he’s impulsively married your sister, and instead of being angry—” he motioned at the winter wonderland around them “—you arranged all this.”
“Except for this dress.” She looked down ruefully at the tight red dress, wishing she was dressed in that modest burgundy gown she’d selected. “Nicole picked it out. She said my dress was the frumpiest thing she’d ever seen and she wasn’t going to let it ruin her wedding photographs.”
“They really do deserve each other, don’t they?” he murmured. Then he glanced down at her and growled, “You look beautiful in that dress.”
Another compliment that didn’t sound like a compliment. If anything, he sounded angry about it. His jaw was tight as he looked away.
Was he mocking her? She didn’t understand why he would tell her she was beautiful but sound almost furious about it. Her cheeks burned as she muttered, “Thanks.”
For a moment, the two of them stood apart from the crowd, watching as the bridal couple finished their dance with a long, flashy kiss. The guests applauded then went out to join them on the dance floor. Feeling awkward, Holly started to turn away.
Stavros stopped her, his dark eyes glittering as he said huskily, “Dance with me.”
“What? No.”
Broad-shouldered and powerful in his tuxedo, he towered over her like a dark shadow. Lifting a sardonic eyebrow, he just held out his hand, waiting.
What was he playing at? Stavros took starlets and models to his bed. Why would he be interested in dancing with a plain, ordinary girl like her? She looked up at him. His handsome face was arrogant, as untouchable and distant as a star.
“You don’t have to feel sorry for me,” she said stiffly.
“I don’t.”
“Or if you think it’s a requirement, because you’re best man and I’m maid of honor—”
“Do I strike you as a man who gives a damn about other people’s rules?” he asked, cutting her off. “I just want you to see the truth.”
“What’s that?” Half-mesmerized, she let him pull her into his powerful arms. Electricity crackled up her arm as she felt the heat of his palm against hers. She looked up at his face. His jawline was dark with five-o’clock shadow below razor-sharp cheekbones. There was a strange darkness in his black eyes, a vibrating tension from his muscular body beneath the well-cut tuxedo.
“You don’t love my cousin. You never did.”
She tried to pull away. “You have some nerve to—”
Holding her hand implacably in his own, he led her out onto the dance floor, where guests swayed to the slow romantic Christmas music of the orchestra.
She felt everyone looking at her. The women, with a mix of envy and bewilderment, the men, with interest, their eyes lingering on her uncomfortably low neckline.
Even Nicole and Oliver paused to gape at the sight of Stavros leading her out on the dance floor. Holly felt equally bewildered. Stavros could dance with anyone. Why would he choose her? Had he lost some kind of bet?
Surely this couldn’t just be to convince Holly she had no real feelings for Oliver.
But if he could, how wonderful would that be?
Suddenly, Holly wanted it more than anything in the world.
Stavros led her confidently to the center of the dance floor, forcing others to move aside to make way for them. Pulling her against his chest, he looked down at her. She felt his dark gaze burn through her body, all the way to her toes. He looked at her almost as if he—
Desired her?
No. Holly’s cheeks went hot. That was a step too far. No man had ever desired her. Not Oliver. Not even Albert from Accounting, who’d asked her on a date a few months ago, then stood her up for some playoff game.
But there was heat in Stavros’s gaze as he moved her in his arms.
“You don’t love my cousin,” he whispered, tightening his hold on her. “Admit it. He was just a dream you had to keep you warm at night.”
Could it be true? How she wanted to be convinced! “How can you say that?”
His sensual lips curved. “Because as little as I know about love, it seems to involve really knowing someone, flaws and all. And you don’t even know him.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’ve worked for him for three years. Of course I know Oliver. I know everything about him.”
“Are you sure?” Stavros said, glancing at the dancing couple.
Following his gaze, Holly saw Oliver give a flirtatious smile to a pretty girl over his wife’s shoulder. She saw Nicole notice, scowl, then deliberately step on her new husband’s foot with her wicked stiletto heel.
“So he’s a little flirty,” she said. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
Now Stavros was the one to roll his eyes. “He sleeps with every woman he possibly can.”
“He never tried to sleep with me,” she protested.
“Because you’re special.”
Holly sucked in her breath. “I am?”
“Get that dying-cow look off your face,” he said irritably. “Yes, special. His secretary before you filed a sexual harassment suit against him. I told Oliver if that ever happened again, I’d fire him, cousin or not. And he’s a Minos man to the core. Like he said, selfish to the bone. Why would he want to risk losing an amazing secretary slaving away for him night and day, just for some cheap sex he can—and does—get everywhere else?”
“Cheap!” Holly had never even been naked with a man before. How dare Stavros imply she offered cheap sex to all comers? She glared at him. “What right do you have to criticize him? You’re just as bad. You sleep with a new actress or model every week!”
Stavros’s jaw tightened. “That’s not true…” Then something made the anger drain out of his handsome face, replaced by stark, raw emotion. “But you’re right. I have no right to criticize him. And I wouldn’t, except he’s trying to take your life. Don’t let him do it,” he said fiercely. He pulled her closer, looking down at her as they swayed to the slow music. “Oliver is using you. Look past your dream. See him for the man he really is.”
Looking back at Oliver, now arguing with his new bride as they left the dance floor, Holly suddenly thought of all the times that he’d stopped her as she left the office on Friday nights, putting stacks of files into her arms. “You don’t mind taking care of this over the weekend, do you, Holly?” he’d say, flashing her his most charming, boyish, slightly sheepish grin. “Thanks, you’re the best!”
She thought of all the times he’d mysteriously disappear when an unpleasant conversation was required, leaving Holly to do his dirty work for him. And not just work like firing someone. Frequently she’d be left alone to sort out weeping, heartbroken women who appeared at the office, begging to see him, railing about broken promises.
At the time, Holly had convinced herself it was proof of his faith in her that he’d relied on her to handle such important matters.
But now…
She looked at Oliver and Nicole, who’d gone back to sit at the head table. There was still a smudge of white frosting on her sister’s cheek. Earlier, when they’d cut the wedding cake, Nicole had delicately fed her new husband his slice, holding the pose beautifully for pictures. Immediately afterward, Oliver had smashed the piece into his bride’s face to make the crowd laugh.
Now, sitting on the dais, they were arguing fiercely over champagne. She was trying to pull the bottle away from him. Yanking it back, Oliver tilted back his head and vengefully drank it straight from the bottle.
And this was supposed to be the happiest day of their lives.
Holly’s body flashed hot, then cold, from her scalp to her toes. With an intake of breath, she looked up at Stavros as they danced. “My sister—”
“She’s made her bed. Now she’ll have to lie in it.” His hands tightened as he said, “But you don’t have to.”
Holly desperately tried to remember the feelings she’d once had for Oliver, all the lonely nights she’d spent in her tiny apartment, with only her romantic fantasies about her boss to keep her warm. But those memories had disappeared like mist against the cold reality of this wedding, and the hot feel of Stavros’s hand over hers. The dream was gone.
“Why are you forcing me to see the truth?” she said helplessly. “Why do you care?”
Stavros abruptly stopped dancing. He looked down at her, his black eyes searing through her soul.
“Because I want you, Holly,” he said huskily. “On my arm. In my bed.” His hand trailed through her hair and down her back as he whispered, “I want you for my own.”
He was going to hell for this.
Or at the very least, his conscience warned, he shouldn’t hire her as his secretary. Because as hard as he’d tried to ignore her beauty—he couldn’t.
