She looked at him sharply and then shook her head. “Filip.”
“He’s proud of you. And he’s worried that you’re giving up your life for his. He feels a tremendous guilt.”
She hated to hear the words, and especially from Christos. “Don’t talk to me about my brother. I know how he feels. I’m doing the best I can.”
Sympathy and love squeezed his chest. “Of course you are, agape mou.”
“I told you …”
“I love you,” he said to silence her, lifting a finger to her lips. “So I’ll call you ‘my love’ any time I want.”
She fluttered her eyes closed. His words threatened to bring her far too much happiness. And she wished she could let herself feel it. But the happiness he promised led to its counterweight: despair. “Let’s stick to talking about Filip.”
“Fine by me. But Ellie?” His use of the affectionate diminutive of her name made something weird happen inside of her. “I’m not going anywhere.” He lifted her hand and kissed it gently.
She pulled away with determination. “Filip.”
His smile was indulgent. “Fine. Come to dinner tonight. We’ll talk then.”
“Talk now.”
He shook his head. “I have a meeting. I’ll send a car for you at eight.”
“No.” She was too close to the edge. A few steps and she’d be falling, back into his arms, back into him. It wasn’t possible. “I don’t want to have dinner with you.” Her cheeks flushed and she pulled her lower lip between her teeth. “I know this might make me seem incredibly immature or whatever but dinner is where things get mixed up. If you want to talk about Filip, then let’s keep it simple.”
His eyes narrowed, but he nodded. “Fine.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “Come to this address tomorrow at nine. Is that business-like enough for you?”
She lowered her gaze to the card. RAKANTI was emboldened in big black letters across the front. Beneath it there was an address, in Hanover, just off Wall Street. “Your office?”
He nodded.
“Fine.” She put the card down beside her tea. “I’ll see you then.”
He didn’t move though. He stood opposite her, his eyes arrested on her face. “It’s been five weeks.”
She breathed in deeply. It was a mistake. She caught a hint of his uniquely masculine fragrance and felt her knees weaken. “Since when?” She murmured disingenuously.
“You know,” he moved closer. “The more you pretend you haven’t missed me, the more tempted I am to show you otherwise.”
She glared at him. “Hot tea, remember.”
His laugh sent shivers down her spine. “Tomorrow.”
He turned and left, and the moment the front door clicked closed she felt pervasive emptiness and despair steal into the apartment.
It hung, heavy in the air, all night. Even when Hannah returned, her arms full of what she considered excellent sources of distraction (a copy of Dirty Dancing from the Canal Street markets, a bag of chocolate truffles and a new scarf in psychedelic colours) Elle couldn’t ignore the dull, throbbing ache low in her abdomen.
It didn’t dissipate overnight, either.
By morning, her nerves were stretched tighter than cable wire. She didn’t have a huge selection of clothing, and after discarding her tenth option, she barrelled into a still-sleeping Hannah’s room.
“Honey? Mind if I borrow something.”
“Whatever,” Hannah mumbled and nodded, burrowing deeper beneath her quilt.
Elle threw open the doors to Hannah’s wardrobe and grinned. This was more like it. Hannah had always had a knack for thrift shopping and her wardrobe was an eclectic mix of designer goods. Elle settled on a white blouse and navy blue dress, teamed with some matching navy pumps. She stood back to admire the effect and grinned.
Business like.
Professional.
Definitely not sexy.
She fluffed her hair and put a little makeup on to add colour to her cheeks and then breezed out of the apartment.
The subway was delayed and so she arrived at the monolith of steel and glass with only minutes to spare. Yet still she stopped in the middle of the footpath and looked up. And up.
All the way to the top of the tower.
Her hopes sunk correspondingly lower.
The way Christos Rakanti lived was literally worlds apart from her. Men like him didn’t even eat at the diner she worked at. It was impossible to understand how he could say he loved her.
She ignored those doubts. They weren’t relevant.
“Can I help you, miss?” An elderly chap in a security uniform greeted her at the glass doors.
She nodded, her fingers fumbling as she pulled out the card.
“Ah, yes. Rakanti Industries is on the forty ninth floor.”
Forty ninth floor. She smiled weakly. “Thank you.”
The elevator moved like a capsule bullet, straight up the tower. One side was glass and so as she ascended towards the sky, she could see the city becoming smaller and smaller like a little Lego village.
The swishing open of the elevator doors startled her and she spun, scanning the wall beyond.
The same black lettering as the business card announced that she’d arrived at her destination. Slowly, cautiously, she stepped off the lift, almost as though a pit of fire might have been waiting for her.
There was a desk straight ahead, with two women seated behind it. They didn’t look up as she approached and so Elle had to clear her throat. The blonde smiled and flicked her ice-blue eyes Elle’s way. “Good morning, madam. May I help you?”
“I have an ap-appointment with Christos Rakanti.”
The blonde’s frown was infinitesimal but Elle saw it. She understood it. The blonde thought Elle didn’t belong, and Elle smiled apologetically, because the blonde was completely right.
“Your name?”
“Elle Bradley.”
Surprise was evident in every single feature on her perfectly made up face. “Of course, Miss Bradley.” The woman stood, revealing a neat figure wrapped, head to toe, in glamour and beauty. Elle could have cringed as she walked behind her, feeling suddenly not so much professional as plainly frumpy.
The receptionist knocked on a pair of glass doors, frosted to conceal whatever was beyond, and then stepped away.
Christos pulled them inwards and Elle had to dig her fingernails into her palms to cover her gasp.
He was dressed in a suit.
She’d seen him in suits plenty of times and yet today it made her want to peel the sensible outfit from his body. Perhaps it was the surrounds that gave him an almost untouchable formality.
Elle’s smile was politely hesitant; it lacked warmth completely.
“Come in,” he said gently, stepping backwards to make way for her.
His office was enormous. Easily twice the size of the apartment she shared with Hannah, and far more glamorous. The windows behind him stretched from floor to ceiling and showed an expansive view of downtown Manhattan. His desk stood in the centre. It was large, with two MacBooks in the centre and piles of paper and folders. There were white leather armchairs in front of it, and then, set a little way over, a colourful middle-eastern style carpet with more armchairs.
“Please.” He nodded towards the armchairs set at a distance and she walked towards them, a little too overawed to bother finding a smart comment. “Thank you for meeting me. Would you like some tea?”
“I’m fine,” she lied, desperately wishing she could curl her fingers around a comforting warm drink.
His smile was knowing. “This will take some time. Are you sure?”
Her cheeks flamed. “Fine. A tea would be nice. Thank you.”
“It just kills you to thank me, doesn’t it?”
Her blush deepened. “What did you want to talk about?”
He grinned and pressed the intercom in the centre of the low coffee table. “A tea, milk, no sugar. Coffee.”
He s
at opposite her and lifted a folder off the table. She hadn’t even noticed it. “As you know, Filip’s education is taken care of.”
She nodded. “Yes. And as you know, I’m very grateful.” That much was easy to admit.
“I thought you should be aware that I’ve set a fund up for him for college, too. He’ll have his pick of whichever he chooses.”
Elle felt as though the world was tipping sideways. “He will?”
“Of course.” He stared at her thoughtfully. “He’s expressed an interest in coming to Greece after school to do an internship at Rakanti.”
“What?” Her eyes shifted to his face incredulously. “Was that your idea?”
The door pushed inwards and the other receptionist, the one with a neat brown bun, walked into the room with a small tray.
She placed it between Christos and Elle then walked smartly from the room.
“It wasn’t my idea, nor was it his.” He shrugged. “It evolved out of many conversations and a clear aptitude he displays for business.” Christos leaned forward, resting his elbows on his powerful thighs. She forced her gaze to stay level with his, rather than remembering what it was like to be pinned beneath those legs.
“It’s years away,” she said, doing her best to stay calm. But it felt like the four walls of her existence were being shoved in around her.
He nodded. “You’re right. There’s much to focus on before that becomes an issue.” He reached for the tea cup and handed it to Elle. She took it, careful not to let her fingers brush his.
“Such as?” She blinked at him wearily.
He smiled, and it dazzled her. She jerked her head down and sipped the tea, glad when it scalded her tongue.
“You’re his legal guardian.”
“I think we’ve established that.”
“Until he’s eighteen, you’ll be responsible then for administering his trust fund and assets.”
She stared at him sharply. “What trust fund and assets?”
“He’s a Rakanti, agape mou. It is appropriate that he receive what is his birthright.”
Elle’s pulse was pounding like a sparrow on a ledge. “You should do that. It’s nothing to do with me.”
“You’re wrong. You’re legally obliged to do it.”
She paled and he almost felt sorry for her. Almost. But not quite. “But I wouldn’t know how to manage anything like that. Our finances are simple, Christos. I have a chequing account and a savings account. I don’t even have a credit card.”
“You’re smart. You’ll pick it up. And I’ll be here to help you.”
“You will?” She blinked, hating the gauche surprise in her voice. She spoke quickly to bulldoze past it. “What’s involved?”
“I’m glad you asked.” He slid the folder across to her and she stared at it suspiciously. Suppressing a smile, he stood from his seat and came to crouch beside her. He lifted the folder and rested it on her knees. His fingers couldn’t help but graze across her bare legs, and he felt her jerk in response.
“These are the assets I’m transferring to Filip’s name.” He pointed to a column, but as Elle read the itemised list, she began to shake her head.
“I must be missing something.”
“Oh?” He turned to look at her; their faces were only inches apart.
“You’ve put … this has a yacht. And a penthouse. And company shares. Is this amount right?”
“It’s today’s market value. Though we’re poised to acquire a hotel in Kowloon which will boost that.”
“Christos, stop.” She fluttered her eyes shut. “This is too much. He doesn’t need any of this.”
“He’s a Rakanti.”
“No.” She put the paper down. “He’s a Bradley. And he won’t want anything from your father, trust me.”
Christos kneeled, and put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s done. It cannot be undone. These things will be held in his name until he’s eighteen. If, at that point, he decides he doesn’t want them, he may give them away.”
“How can you be so cavalier about such an enormous sum of money?”
“That money should always have been his.” He stroked his fingers over her arm, feeling her warmth through the shirt. “My father should have done this.”
And though he concealed the disapproval, she heard it. “You’re angry with him.”
His lips lifted into a half-smile. “Anger at a dead man would be a futile waste of emotion. But I’m … disappointed, nai.”
“Have you told Filip about this?”
“No. That’s not my place. It’s yours.”
“Christos.” It was a wail. “I don’t know what to say. Three months ago I didn’t know how I’d cover his school fees and overnight you’re turning him into a millionaire.” She looked back at the page. “Several times over.”
He scanned her eyes. “It is his inheritance.” He wanted to kiss her. He ached to lean forward and smudge away her worry and concern. “And your duty is to manage it for him.”
“I wouldn’t have any clue what to do.”
“No,” he nodded. “I thought of that. Which is why I’m going to help you.”
“Oh? How?”
“Once a week, we’ll meet. I can answer any questions, guide you as I see fit. The decisions, of course, will always be yours.”
Suspicion unfurled inside of her. “Is this a ploy? To make me see you?”
His laugh was rich. “I’m both mildly offended and deeply amused. No, agape mou. It is no ploy.”
She swallowed the objection to his suggestion, not sure she could launch a good enough rebuttal in her current state. “Why is this one highlighted?” She pointed to the penthouse. The address, she calculated, was somewhere on the upper East side.
“Because it’s the most suitable residential option. I have a car waiting to take us there.”
She placed her teacup down on the table with a slight clatter.
“He already has a residential option.”
“It’s not appropriate.”
“Stop.” She stood up and walked towards the window, her figure slender against the skyline. He watched as she rubbed her temples and again, he wanted to remove the burden of decision making and responsibility from her shoulders. And he would. But he had to move so, so slowly that she incrementally accepted each phase of his plan. “I know you think our apartment is small. And it is. And our possessions are meagre. But Hannah and I have worked hard to make it a home …”
“This isn’t about your apartment.” He came to stand beside her, thrusting his hands into his pockets. “It’s about your security.”
“My security?”
“Filip has gone from relative obscurity to insane wealth and public-profile almost overnight. You’re his guardian. You don’t think it’s possible that people could target you to get to him?”
She wrapped her arms around her waist. Confusion and worry perforated her gut. “I don’t want any of this.”
“Would you honestly begrudge your brother the opportunities I’m offering him?”
She frowned. “No.” She turned slowly, her face wary. “And you know that, don’t you? I think you’re manipulating me now, as easily as you did that first morning. You know my weaknesses and you’re not above exploiting them.”
The very loose grip he had on his self-control began to weaken, and when her lower lip trembled, it snapped altogether. “If I wanted to exploit your weakness, I would do this.” And he kissed her suddenly, abruptly, catching her completely off-guard. She had no time to prepare for the onslaught of desire; no time to rally her coldness and animosity.
His mouth dominated hers. It was her master; his kiss was breathing life back into her soul. She was powerless to pull away. She didn’t want to. She wanted to feel everything. Every part of him. She tied her body to his, wrapping her arms around his neck and tangling her fingers in his thick, dark hair. He was warm; she felt the heat and it was reassuring and addictive.
His tongue clashed with hers; his hands r
oamed down her back, holding her tight to his chest. If their kiss was a battle, then the war was his. There was no contest. She surrendered to him, but it was no surrender. She was victorious too.
When he lifted his head, his eyes were shining with arrogant success and she didn’t care. She wanted more. Just more.
“Come and see the apartment.”
She nodded, lifting her fingers to her lips. How could she inoculate herself against something she wanted so badly? He put a hand in the small of her back and she was too shell-shocked to pull away from him.
Only when they reached the privacy of the elevator did she move apart, creating vital distance.
“Don’t … I think …” she stopped talking abruptly and stared straight ahead. In the warped reflection she saw the pinkness of her cheeks and the fullness of her lips. She looked how she felt. Hot, and completely flushed by desire.
Chapter 11
When they emerged onto the pavement, a limousine was waiting, and as they walked towards it, she tilted her face to his. “Seriously?”
He grinned. “I don’t drive in Manhattan.”
“Why not? Do our roads frighten you?” She asked, hoping to expose a flaw in his bravado.
He laughed, shaking his head to the chauffeur and holding the door for her himself. “Not at all. Your traffic infuriates me, though. It’s a waste of my time to be behind the wheel. Here, I can work.”
The back of the limousine was large enough to comfortably accommodate eight people. She sent him a look and took a seat in the corner. To her equal relief and disappointment, he sat opposite her.
“So why this penthouse?”
“Actually, it’s technically the sub-penthouse. And it’s been in the Rakanti family since the building went up. It made sense that it should go to your brother.”
“What does your mom think about all of this?”
He put a hand on her knee as the limousine pulled into traffic with a stately elegance. “She doesn’t involve herself with my business.”
Elle settled back in the seat and tried to concentrate on the view as the limousine moved through the city.
“I’ve been curious about something,” he said, somewhere around Bloomingdale’s.
Bartered to the Sheikh & Rakanti's Indecent Proposition (Clare Connelly Pairs Book 8) Page 31