Her Greek Romance aka Greek Encounter

by Risk, Mona

  Greek Encounter

  Contemporary Romance

  by

  Mona Risk

  Kindle Edition

  Greek Encounter

  Copyright March 2012 - Mona Risk

  Kindle Edition, License Notes

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be used, reproduced, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Other books by Mona Risk:

  NO MORE LIES :

  EPIC’s eBook 2011 Finalist.

  Best Contemporary Romance at READERS FAVORITE.

  RIGHT NAME, WRONG MAN:

  14 Five-Stars reviews

  BABIES IN THE BARGAIN:

  Best Romance Novel at Preditors & Editors Readers Poll 2009.

  Best Contemporary Romance at READERS FAVORITE.

  The Long and the Short of It Reviews: Best Book of the Week

  Night Owl Romance: TOP PICK

  PRESCRIPTION IN RUSSIAN:

  Night Owl Romance: TOP PICK

  TO LOVE A HERO:

  Simply Romance Review: Outstanding Read

  The Romance Studio: Sweetheart of the Week

  FRENCH PERIL:

  Night Owl Romance: Recommended Read

  OSIRIS’ MISSING PART:

  Night Owl Romance: TOP PICK

  CHAPTER ONE

  Revenge would taste sweet. Yet Stefano Kostapoulos sought no revenge. A sad page of his family's history needed to be turned once and for all. We will forget the past, he vowed as he scanned the one-story brick house hunkered down on a dune facing the Aegean Sea. God, how he hated the old villa that spoiled the beauty of Mykonos Island.

  The wrought-iron gate leading to the dilapidated yard opened. A woman came out, a beach bag in her hand, and closed the gate behind her.

  Unable to believe his eyes, Stefano slapped his open palms on the railing at the bow of his yacht, and leaned forward. No one had stepped into the Pink Villa since his grandmother Elena became so sick four months ago. What was going on here?

  “I’ll...be...damned.”

  She was a vision. Aphrodite in a green sarong. Her reddish blond hair cascaded down her back in a glorious mane. Stefano extended his arm in a wishful gesture as if to catch the curly strands flying in the gentle breeze.

  Raising his binoculars, he followed the alluring sway of her hips as she crossed the street, ambled along the boardwalk, and stepped onto the sand. She sauntered toward a striped umbrella and dropped her bag on a vacant lounge chair under the shade.

  Without wasting another minute, Stefano unhooked his phone from his belt and punched in his lawyer’s number.

  “Kalimera, Ted, good morning. I’m on the Athena. I saw a woman coming out of the old house. Should we anticipate trouble?”

  “I haven’t heard anything from my American counterpart.” A shuffling noise indicated Ted was searching through his notes. After a few seconds of silence, he cleared his throat. “This woman may be a cleaning maid.”

  Stefano brought the binoculars back to his eyes for a thorough check. Poise and natural elegance emanated from the young woman.

  “Too classy, with a figure to damn a saint, and hair about to set the beach on fire. Definitely no maid here.”

  On the other end of the phone line, a burst of laughter interrupted his enthusiastic description. “Sounds like you’re already on fire. Take a cold drink while I make a few phone calls. I’ll get back to you.”

  “See that you do. Tomorrow we have to win our case in court and get a permit to demolish the dump. I don’t want any surprises. Call me as soon as you have an explanation.” Breathing deeply to calm his growing nervousness, he inhaled the salty air of the Mediterranean Sea and hooked the cell phone to his belt.

  Determined to keep a vigil on the potential threat created by the presence of a stranger in his grandmother’s house—and what a stranger—Stefano raised the binoculars again watching the scenario unfolding on the shore.

  The young woman untied her beach wrap and threw it on the back of the lounge chair.

  “Lovely.” The word escaped him with a groan as she revealed perfect curves molded by the bikini like a second skin. Stefano blinked, assessing and admiring.

  Aphrodite’s hands slid behind her back and remained hidden for a good moment. What was she up to? She turned around. This time he could see her profile and her fingers clasped on the hook of her bikini top.

  With impatient twists, he fiddled with his binoculars. Damn it. It was already in perfect focus. Eyes narrowed, Stefano stiffened and zeroed in his attention on the beach.

  Her head swiveled right then left. Was she scanning the stretch of sand carpeted with topless sunbathers? Guessing the woman’s intention, he swallowed hard.

  Take it off or not take it off? What a dilemma

  She must be a foreigner. Probably a bashful American on her first visit to Greece. No doubt about it. A European beauty wouldn’t have hesitated to remove her bra on a beach where topless was the norm and full bathing suits the exception.

  His senses on alert, Stefano stilled, focusing and waiting. Would she shy away from revealing herself or follow the locals’ example?

  Her breasts swelled and rose while she seemed to struggle with her thoughts. Her fingers clenched behind her back on the thin strip of material. With a swift gesture, she unhooked the clasp, snatched the bikini top off, and crumpled it in her palm.

  Stefano sucked in his breath. Simply gorgeous. His hands fisted, and flexed, and he almost dropped his binoculars.

  As if she sensed she was being watched, the woman crossed her arms in front of her, and plopped onto the lounge chair, hiding her magnificent breasts from his hungry gaze.

  Good Lord. What was he doing, ogling a foreigner? He raked his hair, embarrassment dousing his excitement. Thousands of beauties lay topless on the Greek shores. He’d never bothered to grant them more than a passing glance. Yeah, but none had hair as fiery as this siren, a skin as white as his favorite sweet whipped cream, and a figure to revive a dead man. His own body quivered with life, tenting his navy blue shorts. He threw a glance over his shoulder. Luckily, his steward was busy mopping the aft deck.

  “Mikhali, let’s go closer to shore.”

  Stefano didn’t waste time to weigh his decision. He wanted to meet the beautiful redhead. Besides, he needed to discover why she was at the Pink Villa, the old, decrepit place where his grandmother Elena had hidden her grief and tears once a month for half a century.

  Just as the yacht reached the bay where it usually anchored, Stefano’s cell phone rang. He glanced at the number displayed. “Ted, what’s up?”

  “I called the clerk at the court. He received a fax today saying that Mr. Zanis’ lawyer is arriving from America to contest your application for a permit to demolish the house.”

  “Damn Zanis and his lawyer. My Yaya suffered for years from the lousy memories held in this place. Stick to the plan. No lawyer is going to stop me, no matter what he does.”

  It was too late for his Yaya now. His dear grandmother had died five weeks ago. She hadn’t minded his suggestion to build a beautiful resort on the lot of the old house, but she’d insisted he notify the American co-owner, George Zanis. The snake had protested long and loud, threatened to take all the Kostapoulos to court, and promised to send his attorney.

  Next M
onday, after forty days of mourning as was the Greek custom, their family lawyer would read the will. Stefano straightened, never doubting the outcome of the meeting and the court’s decision. Soon, the despicable Pink Villa would be his to demolish. With the reminder of the painful past crushed to the ground, he’d build a luxury resort on the premium land, and replace the painful past with the laughter of joyful visitors.

  The sooner, the better.

  “Stefano, the lawyer is a Miss Sheppard. She’s staying at the Poseidon Hotel and she visited the Pink Villa this morning. She will appear in court on Monday with a local attorney to contest your petition to demolish the villa.”

  “I’ll be damned.” The image of a lovely figure with blazing hair and gorgeous breasts popped into his mind. The opposition lawyer. Pity. Tomorrow, he’d have to fight her in court, rip her apart if needed. “Ted, I want to meet this woman. Arrange a meeting with her for later without telling her who I am. My name is a mouthful anyway. Instead of Dimitri Stefano Alexios Kostapoulos, use Stefano Alexios. I’ll try to prevent her from appearing in court. We need to demolish the Pink Villa. No matter what it takes. I don’t want my family to suffer any longer.”

  Stefano pitched a savage look beyond the turquoise waves unfurling on the golden sand of Mykonos, the island where he’d lived all his life. With the villa gone, his parents and relatives would regain peace of mind and stop cursing the coward George Zanis who’d dishonored and abandoned Yaya Elena years ago.

  ****

  Ashley Sheppard blew out a breath of exasperation. Following the local customs hadn’t prevented her from attracting unwanted attention. What more could she do? She had donned a skimpy bikini and taken off the darn bra to blend with the crowd of topless sunbathers. And yet strollers stared at her as if she wore a sign labeled, “It’s my first time here.” She couldn’t spend the rest of the afternoon with her arms crossed over her chest.

  Behind her sunglasses, she narrowed her eyes, examining the colorful throng swarming the beach for a clue. What could be different about her? Other women walked around or lay almost nude without eliciting any special interest from their neighbors. Young and old, blonde-haired and brunettes, tanned or...white. White? Could that be her problem?

  With a scowl, she reached into her beach bag for a plastic bottle and squirted out a generous portion of sunscreen to slather over her lily-white breasts. In a sudden frenzy, she emptied the bottle all over her body and furiously rubbed it in. Too bad the lotion couldn’t dye her skin instantaneously. But its strong perfume overpowered the refreshing smell of the sea and warm sand.

  Keeping one arm strategically positioned to hide part of her breasts, she smoothed her hair to tame the unruly strands flying over her face. It suddenly occurred to her she was the only redhead around here. Easy enough to fix. Fishing her cap from the bag, she fumbled to tuck up her hair without uncovering her chest. Exhaling with relief, she relaxed, determined to enjoy a quiet afternoon before starting serious work tomorrow.

  “Kyria, separakalo.” Ashley raised her head toward the young man in a waiter’s apron. “Miss, please,” he repeated in broken English, “two gentlemen, there.” He pointed to the sidewalk café across the street. “They ask you, for kaffe and pastry.” He held out a card.

  Annoyed, she ignored the card. Her arms still wrapped around her chest, she spun her head toward the street and saw the two men, in shorts and t-shirts, sitting at a table, one of them smoking a cigarette. They acknowledged her with a nod.

  The gall of these locals. Couldn’t she be left in peace for a single minute in this country?

  “Kyria, please. The card,” the waiter insisted, probably worried about losing his tip.

  With a sigh, she took the card and frowned while reading the name. Her heart double-flipped. Theodore Pastroudis. The lawyer of that Greek SOB, Dimitri Kostapoulos, who was responsible for her dear grandpa’s heart attack. The same devil’s spawn who wanted to destroy her grandfather’s villa. She’d studied the case as soon as she got wind of their sneaky deal. They could both go to hell as far as she was concerned. She wouldn’t meet with the enemy’s lawyer.

  “Kyria, look at back, please,” the waiter begged.

  What now? Her brow arched and she flipped the card impatiently. She gasped, hardly believing her eyes as she uttered between gritted teeth the words scribbled. “Miss Sheppard, it would be in our best interests to get acquainted today in a friendly environment before meeting in court.”

  “How on earth did he find out my name? Has he been following me?”

  Taken aback by her glare, the waiter lowered his head with uncertainty. “Scuse-me, kyria? Me no understand.” She shouldn’t blame him for the message he’d delivered. She took a deep breath to calm her jumbled nerves.

  “There will be no answer.” She reached into her bag for her wallet and dropped a coin in his hand. “You may go now,” she added in a tone of voice that brooked no discussion.

  “Efkharisto, kyria. Thank you, Miss.” He turned his back and rushed away.

  Her sunbathing spoiled by the unpleasant episode, Ashley decided not to linger around the beach half naked. The nasty lawyer might not take no for an answer. The last thing she needed now was for him to show up in front of her while she used her arms in lieu of a bra. Bending forward, she fumbled in her bag for the top of her bikini.

  “Miss Sheppard. A moment, please.”

  An American voice? Damn, damn. And he knew her name. Her fingers buried in the bag, she frantically searched for the tiny piece of material, while her other arm covered her breasts. “Go away. Please, go away.” Where was the damn towel? Already spread on the sand but too far out of reach.

  “I need to speak to you.” Too close for comfort, the deep masculine voice scattered goose bumps along her arms and froze her hand inside the bag.

  “Not now,” she said with the forceful tone she used in court. No way she’d carry a conversation in the buff. Or semi-buff. Especially with a compatriot. “I’m very busy.”

  “Really?” Heavy sarcasm underlined his question.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw the man approaching her chair. In a second, he’d be staring at...

  Without hesitation, she plunged forward and landed half on the towel and half on the sand. At least now, she didn’t feel exposed. Still she flattened herself on her stomach and stiffened, both arms bent against her sides for a partial shield of her vulnerability.

  “Miss Sheppard, I just need a minute of your time.” The jerk now stood in front of her, his ankles at the level of her eyes. “I’m Ted Pastroudis.”

  The opposition lawyer. Lifting her head a tiny bit, she scowled at his hairy legs. “Mr. Pastroudis, don’t you think you’re going too far?”

  The man crouched in front of her, holding her gaze. “What are you doing here? Why did you come, Miss Sheppard?”

  Pressing her arms closer to the curves of her breasts, she twisted her head to his side. “Mr. Pastroudis,” she spat, her anger escalating with her desperation at hiding the topless part of her body. “As a lawyer, you should realize this is harassment.”

  Damn his stubbornness. She glared at him, and then frowned. She’d never seen Pastroudis before and yet she could swear he looked familiar. Dark hair, hazel eyes, aquiline nose, and the general appearance of a thin, nervous man always on the go.

  His brows shot up as he surveyed her. Surprise replaced his professional aggressiveness.

  “Ashley? From Harvard Law School?”

  “Yes. And you are...Teddy,” she said, after a brief hesitation to scan her memory.

  “We worked together on a student paper in second year, remember?”

  She nodded, and lowered her head. Of all the awkward situations. Damn it, she couldn’t continue to converse in this position. With a former comrade from school. “I never knew your last name.”

  “And I didn’t make the connection. I’ll be damned,” he said with a congenial smile.

  “Teddy.” Her hiss should warn him she
wasn’t in a mood to exchange niceties right now. “Please, go away.”

  “Pastroudis, stop.” A strong male voice called from behind them, and continued in Greek with an authoritative edge.

  Ted straightened up. His legs finally ambled out of her field of vision.

  “Miss,” the newcomer said with a softer tone. “I’m so sorry we’ve intruded on your privacy.” He spoke perfect English with a hint of Greek accent. “Here are your things. Ted will be waiting at the boardwalk to apologize.”

  A sigh of relief escaped her when her bag and see-through wrap landed in a heap next to her hands. “Thank you.” She twisted her neck and caught a glimpse of a pair of bronzed legs elongated into muscled thighs that could make a woman drool. “I really appreciate it,” she called after Strong-Legs as he strutted away from her umbrella.

  Without bothering to wipe off the sand sticking to her skin, she pulled her bra from the bag, slipped it on and fastened the clasp as fast as possible. While still lying on her stomach, she threw the wrap over her back, and enveloped herself in the soft material. Finally decent again. The stiffness in her shoulders relaxed as she scrambled up to tie the edges between her breasts.

  Gathering her bag and flip-flops, she folded her towel and turned around. Teddy stood by himself fifty feet away. Where had Strong-Legs gone?

  Sunshine burned her naked back and sensitive neck as she trudged through the blazing sand to reach the boardwalk.

  Teddy waved to her but remained in place until she reached him. “Is everything okay?”

  “You could say that.” At least, now, she was ready to talk with her usual calm.

  “Ashley, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you or embarrass you.” The meekness in his voice surprised her. Was it due to the tongue-lashing he’d received a moment ago?

  “It’s okay. What was so important to discuss?”

  “My client saw you coming out of the Pink Villa. Are you representing Mr. George Zanis or is your presence here a coincidence?”