Harlequin Presents--July 2021--Box Set 1 of 2

by Natalie Anderson

  He took the receiver from her but didn’t answer it immediately, his eyes pinning her in place. ‘The whole team is working late, including you. So cancel any plans you have.’

  Without waiting for her answer, he swung his chair away from her.

  And just like that she was released from his force field; the phone call a half-time whistle giving her a much-needed reprieve. But as she exited his office, settled behind her desk and attempted to get her thoughts back to briefs and law reports and away from entangled bodies and heated kisses, Alexis couldn’t help but wonder just how she’d damned herself by giving in to temptation that night on her boss’s sofa.

  * * *

  The first few days after it happened, she’d spent every second on tenterhooks, wondering how they were going to continue working together.

  The mishap had been inexcusable, one she’d vowed never to allow after that one, heart-stopping, never-to-be-repeated instant the first time she’d laid eyes on him. Then, she’d been struck dumb by the visceral potency of his presence. Having worked in a midsize law firm previously, with more than half the workforce being men with large egos who believed themselves top of the food chain, she’d thought she knew every facet of the male dynamic.

  Christos Drakakis rising to his feet and watching her with his hawklike eyes and predatory stillness the moment she entered his boardroom had put paid to every preconception she’d had. To her everlasting shame, she’d stopped in her tracks, her reaction to his aura a solid punch to her solar plexus. But also in that moment, she’d wondered if she was looking at yet another downfall; whether she shouldn’t cut her losses and run in the opposite direction, lest she be taken in by another callous smooth-talker.

  Luckily, she’d come to her senses, her common sense further shored by her best friend, Sophie, who’d made it her business to find out everything there was to know about Alexis’s potential new boss to prevent her making the same Adrian-shaped mistake again; going one step better to equip Alexis with dire stories of what had befallen Christos’s previous assistants.

  Stories Alexis had discovered soon after accepting the role as Christos Drakakis’s assistant, and in the three years of rigid and clinical professionalism since, were absolutely true.

  She’d stayed. And she’d summoned previously unmined control to withstand the sight of Christos leaning over her desk, hands planted on either side of her computer with his thick brawny forearms exposed and chiselled face filling up her vision while he grilled her about a task, using that deep, faintly accented Greek voice. She’d withstood the effect of his fiercely evocative leathery aftershave that made her want to lean up into that space between his square jaw and his collar and take a deep whiff of vibrant skin and man, the way she’d fantasised far more than was healthy.

  She’d had to because, despite the outward show of calm in the face of emotional chaos, the scar tissue inside that had never healed post-Adrian still felt raw and stung deep enough to keep her awake at night, years later. Only pride and the need to draw a conclusive line between her and the greatest mistake of her life had been the catalyst that had pushed her into overcoming temptation.

  She’d succeeded. For the most part.

  Except in moments like five minutes ago, when Christos stared a moment too long and too deeply into her eyes, and she feared he’d seen something other than the impeccable assistant she’d striven to be. Each time he relented she felt as if she’d been saved from the jaws of death. Alexis wished those were just fanciful thoughts.

  They weren’t.

  Up until that twenty-minute trip to the registrar’s office when he’d slid a wedding ring on her finger, her position had granted her a front-row seat to his past relationships, more specifically, the fervid highs each of his new liaisons experienced when he first turned his intense grey eyes on them; the hope that blazed in their eyes that they would be the one to turn the commitment-phobic divorce lawyer into the matrimonial triumph of the decade; and their inevitable devastation when those hopes were dashed with a goodbye bouquet of flowers and an expensive trinket.

  Alexis was the one who fielded frantic, tearful calls, patiently listened to wrenching, heartbroken sobs and pleas for her to intervene on their behalf. On one occasion she’d been shocked when a scorned lover had turned nasty and blamed her for Christos’s lack of interest.

  She’d been equally shocked when Christos had plucked the phone from her hand and informed the unfortunate ex that should she ever threaten his assistant again, she would be sued for everything she owned.

  It had never happened again and she hadn’t summoned the nerve to ask him whether the short-term liaisons that seemed to be his trademark were still ongoing. It was none of her business. Just as her personal life was none of his.

  She snorted under her breath. Perhaps others would pity her that, at twenty-six, her personal life was non-existent. But she’d made the decision to keep clear of emotional entanglements.

  The quiet but ever-present anguish of her abandonment topped by Adrian’s betrayal had only sealed that resolution.

  As usual, she felt a hollow in her stomach as she thought of the woman who’d given her baby away.

  If it’s possible, please name her Alexis.

  Seven short words that summed up her beginning and her only connection to the mother who’d abandoned her. Before the familiar drag of anguish could squeeze her insides, she slammed that painful door shut, cringing when she realised she’d been staring into thin air for several minutes. Focusing on her email when it pinged, she stared at the message from Christos.

  Demitri is calling in a minute. I want you in here with me.

  She rose and re-entered his office, watched his towering six-foot-three figure stride from his window to the ringing phone on his desk, struck all over again by how effortlessly he shouldered the weight of his world.

  Demitri Kyrios. The client who’d lost half of what he owned to his conniving, cheating soon-to-be ex-wife who, more importantly, had gained full custody of his legitimate child simply to spite him for the illegitimate one he’d recently acquired.

  ‘Drakakis,’ he announced into the phone with an air of unapologetic supremacy.

  Alexis glanced at her tablet, determined not to watch him fold that streamlined body into his chair.

  He listened for a handful of seconds, jaw set. ‘No, I trusted you to leave no part of your past undocumented, including every drunken night at university when the possibility that you could’ve fathered a child was real.’

  ‘But I didn’t know! And how the hell did my ex find out?’ Demitri wailed at the end of the phone.

  Christos listened, his features tightening with each word. ‘I’m going to do everything in my power to ensure you regain custody of your child.’

  The depth of that promise made Alexis’s heart lurch. On top of everything that had happened recently, the reminder that no one had fought for her felt too raw. While other DLG partners took on divorce cases where the welfare of the children was in question, she’d noticed very quickly that Christos rarely took those cases on himself, although he kept a ferociously keen eye on the progress. At first, she’d thought it was because he held a secret fondness for children or even harboured hopes of fatherhood.

  She’d discovered otherwise when she’d heard him tersely enlighten a client that he had no intention of marrying or fathering children of his own.

  And yet, when Christos took on a case where one parent was patently unfit, he’d ruthlessly gone after them.

  He’d taken on Demitri Kyrios’s case because they had a history. As close a friendship as she’d seen Christos accommodate. Demitri’s soon-to-be ex was more interested in haute couture and basking in the adoration of her social media followers than in caring for their son. Kyrios’s sin was that he’d omitted to divulge the possibility that he’d fathered another child. One whose existence he’d initially attempted t
o hide, despite a paternity test proving the child was his.

  ‘Yes, you have my word,’ Christos said before slamming the phone down.

  A string of very dirty-sounding Greek words seared the air.

  ‘How the hell did we miss the existence of a fifteen-year-old child in our investigation?’ he bellowed, spiking a hand through his hair.

  Alexis shrugged. ‘Probably because not every woman crawls out of the woodwork when the man she slept with over a decade ago becomes a millionaire. According to the report the investigators unearthed this morning, she wanted to keep her child a secret, raise him on her own.’

  His face clamped in a thunderous frown. ‘She didn’t think the father of her child deserved to know of his existence?’

  ‘She claims she had good reasons to keep the pregnancy from him. I guess we need to respect that.’

  He swore again. ‘Her secret just ruined my case. Forgive me if the last thing I’m in the mood to do is respect that.’

  Alexis nodded solemnly. ‘Of course. So did you want me to stay for something specifically or just to listen to you swear in a language I don’t understand?’

  He glared at her. ‘I believe you still owe me five minutes of a so-called wallow? And while we’re at it, did we not agree that you would add learning Greek to your résumé?’

  Alexis hid her relief as she rose. ‘I’ll get around to taking that Greek course when I’m done with the million other things on my to-do list. And since you’ve never wallowed in your life, I don’t think you’re about to start now.’

  Expecting a quick reply, she was a little stunned when his face closed over a fleeting expression that looked very much like suppressed pain. A moment later, the expression, imagined or not, was gone.

  ‘Where’s the court transcript?’ he demanded brusquely.

  She nodded at the pile of papers on his desk. He picked it up and flicked through it, but she was willing to bet the stunning platinum bracelet he’d given her last Christmas that he already knew every word from the court case backwards.

  He paused when he reached the verdict, and his jaw clenched again. Without taking his eyes off the page, he reached for his phone and hit number five on his speed dial.

  Alexis winced in anticipated sympathy for the head of the firm’s investigative department.

  ‘Mr Cruz, do you have the names I requested?’ He listened for a moment. ‘The answer is no, your apology isn’t accepted. Your team’s sloppiness cost my client the custody of his child. We have a long history together. But make no mistake, you will ensure that nothing like this ever happens again or you’ll be fired. Is that understood?’

  The fifty-seven-year-old veteran who’d worked for DLG since its inception was in the midst of another apology when Christos slammed the phone down.

  The phone immediately started ringing. He ignored it, rising to pace to the floor-to-ceiling windows. As if to synchronise with his mood, the early afternoon views of London were gloomy and overcast, the Thames a drab grey ribbon winding itself beneath centuries-old bridges.

  Alexis’s gaze flicked over the view but she very quickly lost interest in favour of the man who commanded attention even in a room full of five hundred. His shoulders stretched broad and aggressively masculine beneath the bespoke Italian-made suit.

  Her scrutiny dropped lower, to the trim waist framed by his jacket, then to the powerful legs planted apart in a battle stance, even though there was no opponent to decimate.

  From head to toe, Christos Drakakis oozed raw power. Add his drop-dead gorgeous face and razor-sharp intelligence, and he was formidably complex enough to reduce every man, woman and child he met to a state of breathless awe without so much as lifting a finger.

  She reminded herself that Adrian had been equally aware of his effect on women. On her. He’d preyed on it, deliberately set a trap for her. One she’d fallen into and nearly damaged her career permanently. Christos would never know, but that armour she’d been forced to build around her emotions reinforced her vow never to stumble that badly ever again.

  But...lately, her foundations were getting harder to fortify.

  Christos whirled around suddenly, startling her.

  She schooled her features, but saw the quick glint in his eyes before his expression neutralised that hinted he might have caught her watching him. ‘Wallowing over. Grab your pad and let’s get to work,’ he snapped.

  She turned away, acutely aware that his gaze remained on her until she was out of the door. As she stopped for a moment to regroup at her desk, Alexis acknowledged to herself that what had happened with Adrian could never happen again. More importantly, what had happened at Christos’s penthouse couldn’t happen again.

  She would play the role of convenient wife for his grandfather’s sake. But not for a single moment could she drop her guard. She’d been let down, not once, but twice. Her heart couldn’t afford another battering. Her soul wouldn’t make it.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THEY WORKED LONG into the night. By the time the last, shattered-looking lawyer shuffled out of the conference room, it was almost midnight.

  Alexis suppressed a sigh and just managed to stop herself from crumpling into a relieved, exhausted heap. She resisted the urge because, in contrast, Christos looked as if he could go another twenty-four hours without respite.

  She rose from her seat and gathered her files. ‘I’ll go and type up the notes for you,’ she said.

  He strolled to where she stood. ‘I won’t be looking at them tonight. They can wait till tomorrow.’

  Her eyes flicked to him, then immediately returned to the files. ‘It’ll only take half an hour or so. Besides, you look like...’ She faltered, wondering if she should voice the observation.

  ‘I look like what?’ he drawled.

  Was his voice deeper, smokier because he’d spent all day barking at his associates or was it something else? Something...sensual? Earthy? The same something that was triggering tiny fireworks beneath her skin?

  ‘You look...the opposite of what every one of your lawyers looked like when they left the room. Whatever vitamins you take clearly work for you.’

  One corner of his mouth twitched then stilled almost immediately. ‘It’s not vitamins that keep me going.’

  ‘What, then?’ she asked curiously. ‘And don’t say you like winning because this feels like something...more.’

  Christos’s public biography only briefly touched on a childhood spent in Southern Greece. There was hardly any mention of his parents, and Alexis had worked for him for two years before discovering his grandfather was alive, albeit living a reclusive life on a sprawling island in the Aegean. And that grandfather was Costas Drakakis, the retired shipping mogul.

  ‘Perhaps it is,’ he answered cryptically, his gaze fixed on her face.

  When she realised he wasn’t going to elaborate, she pursed her lips.

  ‘Whatever it is, if you could bottle it, you’d make an absolute killing.’

  ‘I believe it’s been labelled as my pathological aversion to failure.’ He shrugged. ‘But if you wish to compliment me on my stamina, then by all means, have at it.’

  Alexis glanced at him in time to catch him looking at her hair. She was acutely aware her bun was in the last stages of slipping its knot, and wayward tendrils had escaped about an hour ago. As for her lipstick, it had been rubbed off when they’d stopped for a hurried supper four hours ago.

  Again his lips twitched.

  She found she was staring at his sculpted mouth and forcibly dragged her gaze away. ‘Well, this lesser human will take you up on your offer to type up the notes in the morning, if you’re sure?’

  ‘Don’t put yourself down. Your fire burned almost as brightly as mine.’ The compliment was countered with a slightly mocking gleam in his eye as he continued, ‘Until I caught your yawn about an hour ago.’

>   She suppressed a grimace. She’d thought she’d hidden it well. ‘Well... I—’

  ‘I’m not going to hold it against you if that’s a worry. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen you less than immaculately put together,’ he mused.

  Alexis reached up to tidy her hair, but suddenly, his fingers were there, beating her to it.

  Their fingers grazed, then tangled. Her breath caught, the sharp sizzle dancing through her blood making her drop her hand as the sensation raced up her arm. With a slow, unhurried movement, he captured a tendril between his fingers and slowly caressed it. Stepping forward, he wound the strand behind her ear, then trailed his fingers down her cheek.

  Her breath stalled as she stood frozen, caught between the electrifying spell and the need to flee.

  Christos regarded her with an almost detached interest, his piercing grey eyes scouring every expression she attempted to hide. As if he was conducting an experiment.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Testing your performance levels like we talked about,’ he confirmed, ‘since you insist you’re not tired.’

  Alarmed by the excitement leaping inside her, she jerked back. ‘That won’t be necessary. You’ve given me your feedback. Allow me the courtesy of letting me work on it.’

  ‘But how will you learn without practical experience?’ he drawled.

  She shrugged, a little perturbed by how quickly they’d landed in this quagmire again.

  ‘I’m not going to discuss this with you any further. Either you trust me to do everything in my power to honour our agreement or you don’t.’

  His nostrils flared but he remained silent, those eyes still fixed on her.

  Until his scrutiny forced her into speech. ‘If that’s all, goodnight—’

  ‘It’s pointless going back home tonight when I need you back here by six. You should stay in the executive suite,’ he tossed out, before heading back to his seat.

  The executive suite. Separated from his own private suite by a twelve-foot-long marble hallway. It wasn’t a big deal under normal circumstances. She’d stayed over before when their workload had pushed their working hours deep into the night.