Her Greek Protector

by Amanda Horton

  She tipped her glass up, frowning as she discovered it was empty. She looked down and blinked. A full glass magically appeared before her. A masculine hand removed her empty glass and slid the full one between her fingers with a murmured “Allow me.”

  She looked up into the most sensuous eyes she’d ever encountered, a mere six inches from her own. She gasped and took a step back. Her eyes roved over the man before her. His dark hair, just a tad longer than was fashionable, hung over his brow. Her fingers curled with the sudden need to smooth it back.

  A smile curved his lips as he did his own perusal of her person. She felt a blush stain her cheeks. Wow! If I’d known all I had to do was wish, I would have done this a long time ago. Though on a second glance, the man didn’t look French. Definitely foreign. Italian, maybe?

  After several long seconds, she remembered her manners. “Thank you.”

  The gorgeous man smiled and inclined his head. “Efkharisto. So, tell me. What is a beautiful lady like you doing out here all by herself?” His voice was deep and gravelly, with what she thought was a Mediterranean accent. His skin was tan with just a hint of olive tone. He might be six feet three or four in height. Gemma herself was five feet seven, but she had to tip her head back to meet this man’s eyes, even with her three-inch heels on.

  Gemma murmured the first thing that came into her mind. “Fresh air.” She wondered what the language he’d spoken in was, but then she looked at his eyes. Instantly she forgot her question.

  “Ypérocho!” He continued to stare at her. “And your companion?”

  Gemma shook her head, feeling a few curls of auburn hair escape. She’d confined her unruly locks for the evening’s auction. Her naturally curly hair was shoulder height, but for this evening’s event she’d wound her curls tight into a neat chignon at the base of her neck. Her wavy locks had been trying to escape and, with the gentle breeze blowing across the terrace, were now succeeding. She answered his question softly. “No companion. I’m here alone.”

  The man’s smile deepened. His voice dropped a few steps lower. “That is a crime against humanity. Allow me to apologize for all of the other men out there who were so stupid as to leave you alone.”

  Gemma felt a shiver of excitement rush down her spine and settle in her lower stomach at his words. His voice had all of her nerve endings standing at attention and his delicious accent fixed all her attention on him. She caught a hint of his aftershave as he moved, and her body reacted on a purely visceral level. I don’t want him to go anywhere. She looked him up and down, drinking in his powerful physique. Her breathing quickened. She licked her lips, letting her eyes move back up his chest. His white shirt and black bow tie subtly hinted at the muscles beneath. His tuxedo was most definitely not off the retail rack. It fit him just like it had been made for his, and only his, body. She didn’t let the obvious signs of his wealth intimidate her, lifting her head to meet his eyes.

  He watched her carefully and seemed fully aware of the effect he had on her. When he raised a hand, and brushed a loose strand of hair back behind her ear, it felt like an electric current ran through her body.

  She bit her lip and watched him, trying to think of something witty to say. She’d never felt such an instant attraction to someone before. Her libido urged her to not let this man out of her sight. “Are you here for the paintings?” She caught sight of his I.D. tag but could only make out the first name before he shifted and it disappeared from her view. Alex? Or was it Alexi? No, it was Alex. Her brain was a muddled mess swimming in too many glasses of champagne.

  The man answered her question with a non-committal nod, as his eyes continued to scan her. His gaze came to rest on the goosebumps on her arms. “You’re cold?”

  Gemma shook her head, but that didn’t stop him from removing his tuxedo jacket and slipping it around her shoulders. He pulled the neck together over her collarbones and kept it closed with his hand. “You should allow me to escort you back inside.”

  “I should?” His scent and his nearness befuddled her brain in a way she couldn’t explain or escape. He was much too close for someone she just met, but she didn’t want him to step away. In fact, she had to restrain herself from bending towards him.

  “You should. In fact, if you’re quite through looking at the paintings, we could go in search of some dinner.”

  Gemma nodded slightly, “I haven’t had dinner.” Her words were only slightly slurred and she forced herself to stand up a bit taller. She reached up to remove his hand, but he held firm.

  “We shall fix that then. Come with me, gatáki.”

  Another of those sexy words… I wonder what language he’s speaking. Gemma didn’t balk at his commandeering of her person, nor did she argue with him when he escorted her from the exhibition halls and onto a private elevator. He’d released hold of his jacket and taken her elbow instead, almost as if he were afraid she would vanish if he let go.

  Her feet weren’t working as well as normal. She stumbled as she stepped into the elevator, finding herself held tightly against a strong chest. “Sorry. Too much champagne.”

  The man, who was yet to identify himself grinned, “I was right in calling you a gatáki—a kitten. You need a keeper. How much is too much?”

  Gemma closed her eyes briefly and counted in her head. Twice. Then she opened her eyes and smiled up into his eyes. The thought of removing herself from where she reclined against his chest never occurred to her. “Three?”

  “On an empty stomach? You are reckless.”

  Gemma shook her head. “Never. Just a day that needed forgetting…er, well, the last part of the day needed forgetting. The first part was fine…” She broke off and bit her lip. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

  *****

  Leo Moustakas looked down at the beautiful young woman half lying against him as the elevator bore them up towards the penthouse. I must have her. She was ripe for the picking and he was a willing farmer ready to bring in the harvest.

  “Not at all. So, my almost-drunk gatáki, do you have a name?” Leo watched as she contemplated her answer. When she hesitated, he decided it really didn’t matter to him. He was only in Paris because of his brother’s promise to their father.

  His mother’s birthday was coming up and his father had decided to add one of the recently discovered art pieces to his mother’s collection. As their father rarely travelled anymore, Alexi was tasked with selecting the painting, but he’d been summoned to the Middle East to close a lucrative shipping deal on behalf of the family company, Moustakas Shipping. Alexi was all about the company and increasing the family empire, while Leo was content to leave all of that to his father and his brother. He was having too much fun and saw no reason to change that dynamic.

  Alexi had already secured the proper I.D. badge and approval to bid at the auction. Knowing Leo was in Monte Carlo at a car race, he’d asked his brother to fly to Paris to buy one of the paintings. Leo was bored and decided to attend the auction, use his brother’s I.D. and assume his brother’s identity for a day or two. Finding a lovely female in need of his companionship was a definite bonus.

  Leo had watched her from a distance. When she’d stepped out onto the veranda alone, he’d known he couldn’t leave her that way. He had to have her in his bed, tonight—and possibly tomorrow night as well. Leo liked women and was never without a bedmate. He was incredibly spoiled, never once being denied female companionship. He attributed that to his good looks, charm and extreme wealth.

  He brushed another stray piece of hair back behind the young woman’s ear and smiled down into her bright green eyes. “You’re very beautiful. Polý ómorfi.”

  She smiled up at him. “So are you.” When she realized she’d spoken aloud, she blushed.

  Leo was even more taken with her. He found her shyness strangely intoxicating. Before he could stop himself, he lowered his lips to her own and tasted her for the first time. She didn’t pull away. Leo deepened the kiss as she wrapped her arms around his tors
o.

  She sighed into the kiss, melting in his arms. He had a moment’s doubt in regard to her sobriety, but the sexual chemistry between them caused him to relax. It was obvious from her responses that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. Not one to deny himself carnal pleasure so freely offered, he took full advantage of their situation. As the elevator doors opened to the penthouse, he swept her up into his arms and carried her through to the bedroom beyond. He still didn’t know her name, but in the heat of the moment, that didn’t matter.

  They quickly divested themselves of their clothing, falling upon the bed in a tangle of arms and legs and sighs of passion. Their joining was intense and repeated throughout the night. Leo finally fell into a heavy sleep around four o’clock in the morning, his arms wrapped around the young woman whose name remained a mystery.

  As the light of morning peaked through the window coverings, he roused himself. He rolled over, intending to once again sate his body in the beautiful young woman from the night before. But his arms encountered the coolness of sheets that had been vacated some time earlier. He pushed himself to a sitting position and scrubbed a hand over his face, listening for sounds from the bathroom. Nothing.

  He slipped from the bed and pushed the bathroom door open. Empty. He pulled on a robe, heading out of the bedroom in search of the young woman.

  He checked the other rooms of the penthouse. Her clothes and purse were gone, just as she was. Finally he realised she’d left him without a trace. Skipped out in the wee hours of the morning without leaving him any way to contact her.

  Leo slammed his fist against the wall. For several minutes, he struggled against his anger. Drawing a breath, he repeated his well-rehearsed mantra. No commitments. There are plenty of other women out there to spend your time with. No need to send down for an expensive trinket or piece of jewelry. This one’s already gone her own way.

  He left the auction house later that morning with the business card of an art restoration expert in his hand, a receipt for the badly damaged Monet, and the memory of an auburn-haired, green-eyed woman who’d rocked his world. I’ve never had such an intense sexual encounter before. It still stung that they’d missed the chance to indulge in one more round again this morning.

  Leo shook himself. Her disappearance was fortuitous. They’d both gotten what they wanted from the brief affair and life went on. Their night of passion was only a memory now—a memory he planned to quickly replace with his next sexual encounter. He glanced back at the hotel. How long it will take to forget her eyes glazed over in passion?

  *****

  END OF SAMPLE

  (Complete Story available on AMAZON as Her Greek Inheritance)

  Novella Sample 2

  Fake Marriage with a Single Mom (A Billionaire Romance)

  The girl crouched by the wall was wearing a flamboyant red sweater. With arms wrapped around her abdomen, her sweaty face flinched as pain flashed sporadically between her legs. In between bouts, she lit a half-smoked Marlboro, holding the stick delicately between trembling fingers, blowing the smoke into the air above her head. Her straggly hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, emphasizing the gaunt lines of her face.

  Noelle Mancini spotted her as she turned the corner leading to Eats Well, the delicatessen she owned in Queens, NY. The first blush of dawn struggled with remnants from the night sky, and like a silent siren, New York’s unwashed denizens responded to the call. The scene was familiar to Noelle. A week didn’t pass by that she didn’t find a drunken tramp, bag lady or a street urchin just outside her door. They didn’t cause any trouble, just needed a warm cup of coffee or a sandwich she could spare. Anything always tasted better on an empty stomach.

  “Hey,” Noelle called cheerily, “I have a turkey sandwich with your name on it,” Noelle said grappling with a set of keys to open the café entrance.

  The girl looked at her in surprise, hesitated, then backed away ready to flee.

  “Come in,” Noelle encouraged, surprised at her hesitation.

  Her surprise turned into alarm as the girl doubled over and fell down on her knees. It was then that Noelle noticed the red stain seeping through the girl's crotch and pants.

  “Are you alright?” Noelle asked with concern, rushing towards the stooped form.

  “Please…please, don’t call the police,” the girl replied in a panicked whisper.

  “Are you in some kind of trouble?” Noelle asked.

  “No. I haven’t done anything wrong. I-I just had an abortion…a bad one.”

  Noelle immediately knew what was happening. Illegal abortions were usually done in the seedier parts of the city without proper hygiene and post-care. Women entered and left like they had just gotten a manicure. But this girl was in really bad shape. Her ashen face may have been a result of too much bleeding.

  “I promise I won’t call the police. Just come inside and let me help you,” Noelle entreated.

  The girl staggered back to her feet then swayed lightly. Noelle placed an arm around her waist and half-carried her inside.

  “I have a bed in the back office,” Noelle said, as she huffed with strain from the girl’s weight.

  They traversed the front of the store, down a narrow hallway, and into the back. Noelle deposited her gently down onto the bed. The girl grimaced in agony as another wave of pain hit her.

  “I’ll be fine. The doctor said to expect some cramping. That’s all this is, really.”

  Noelle was curious about the girl and where she came from. But now wasn’t the right time. She needed to get her off her feet immediately. Noelle hoped the doctor was right and the bleeding was only a side effect. If things didn’t improve in the next 30 minutes, she could then decide what to do next. She fervently hoped it wouldn’t be too late.

  “I have some overnight pads and a clean set of clothes by the drawer. You can use them. In the meantime, can you at least tell me your name?”

  The girl looked up at her. Indecision was clearly written on her face. Then she mumbled softly, “My name is Miranda…”

  ***

  Noelle looked around the 1800 sq. ft of her little kingdom and whispered a prayer of thanks. The coffee machine was spotless, the sandwich prep table was clean, and the chrome on the pastry case and sandwich display cases were gleaming. She had paid for all the equipment, all thanks to hard work and her determination to succeed. The cheap rent, plus constant flow of changing demographics with her customers added up to culinary gold and an assurance that there will always be hungry regulars to feed. The café was doing well and it provided her with a semblance of a normal life.

  A stab of fear ran through her heart. The thought was always at the back of her mind and it was like summoning bad juju. Not really wanting something bad to come, but knowing that eventually it will.

  The letter came today.

  It was from the Immigration Office, reminding her that her work visa was about to expire, in 30 days to be exact. The letter was electronically generated and impersonal, but it had enough to fill her with dread.

  Her application for adjustment of status was still pending and her work permit was based on the sponsorship of her Afro- American mother who passed away before the proper documents could be filed. If she didn’t get the adjustment status soon, there was no way she could apply for another work permit and continue operating the café. It was a tedious process and Noelle knew the clock was ticking.

  The possibility of being deported, together with her son, was something she feared. Going back to Italy was not an option. She had no family there, having lost contact with her dad when she was still a child. Besides, she had put so much of herself into this little café and had amassed a constant stream of regulars.

  Sometimes the desire to lash out at the memory of her mother assailed her. Why didn’t she accomplish the legalities of what needed fixing during the years Noelle was growing up? Instead, she wallowed in sadness because her marriage to Noelle’s Italian father didn’t work out. All her life she kep
t saying they would go back to Italy and work things out with her dad. That day never came.

  Meanwhile, Nikko, her son, was starting kindergarten. They were still engaged in the constant battle of tears and separation anxiety. Her daily promise to be "right here at the gate when you come out of school,” didn’t always work. The long hours she had to put into running the café still provoked tantrums from her child. And it was all part and parcel of the day-to-day tribulations of being a single mom.

  Noelle shrugged the thought aside. There was work to do. In a few hours a hungry crowd, expecting their usual orders, would come trooping through her doorway. She hoped that Miranda, the sick girl at the back, was only a temporary problem. She had been sleeping soundly when Noelle left her and even though she wondered what Miranda’s story was, she decided to attend to her later.

  She checked her inventory of sandwiches inside the refrigerated cooler and made a mental note to stock up on the French Ham and Cheese Sandwiches, which were always crowd pleasers. The countertop condiments needed to be filled with salad greens, onions, and tomatoes and Noelle realized that she had a lot of slicing and dicing to do.

  She reached for a deep metal mixing bowl, heaved a small sack of flour with her other hand, and headed towards the preparation table.

  “Eggs, I need eggs… and where did I leave the olive oil,” she muttered as she headed to the kitchen at the back. She found what she was looking for and gathered all the ingredients for making bread. Her Italian blood dictated that she make them from scratch and not settle for the ready-to-eat kind from the supermarket.

  Working with her hands always calmed her. And Noelle loved to bake, a trait she may have inherited from the Italian side of the family even though she had never really met any of them.

  ***

  83 miles away, in an extraordinary residence sitting on 10 acres of land, dawn light had triumphed. An oceanfront estate, regarded by many as the finest in all of the Hamptons, stood like a silent sentinel. A series of decks and patios led to the red dunes and onto a private, sandy beach. Two custom-made swimming pools and a sunken all-weather tennis court were invisible from the highway, hidden by strategically hedged lawns.