by Tara Pammi
Having neatly been maneuvered into it, Leah had nodded. Now, she was glad she had given in to Stavros’s tactics. Anna was not only talented but also enthusiastic. Having arranged the three dresses on a rack, Leah endlessly tidied the workroom, her stomach a tangle of nerves.
She had risked a lot to be able to make this ready for Mrs. DuPont, to arrive at this stage of making her dream come true.
And yet, it was Stavros’s challenging gaze that stayed at the forefront of her mind. The strength of her desire to show him that she was talented, hardworking, that she had what it took to succeed, only grew.
She was determined to make him see her as his equal, in this at least.
* * *
Leah would have had her meeting with the retail buyer this afternoon.
The small nugget jolted through Stavros’s subconscious like he had set up a reminder chip in his brain to go off every hour. All through his day, through numerous meetings, he found himself thinking of her, of how nervous she had been last night, of how he had seen her work long hours, only remembering to eat because Rosa threatened her.
In the last two weeks, he had found that he couldn’t fault her dedication or hard work. And the night before last, learning that she had once again skipped her dinner, he had gone into her workroom.
He had found himself on her doorstep, stunned into silence as Leah commanded Anna to turn around slowly. Being almost as tall as him, Anna was the perfect model to showcase a knee-length sheath dress in red silk.
Simple yet chic, it touched Anna with sophistication she hadn’t possessed before.
Suddenly, he was extremely glad that Giannis had pushed him and Dmitri to start their work at his textile factories on the sewing floor.
In two weeks, he had learned how dedicated and hardworking she was, and in that moment, Stavros had no doubt of her talent.
It was after six by the time the helicopter touched down at his estate. A curious eagerness buffeted him like the wind from the rotor blades.
He headed directly for her workroom, seeing the light on as he approached the house.
He found her at her drawing table, one hand around her nape, turning her head this way and then other. And then her face flopped down onto her table, her shoulders trembled, and a loud, rattling sigh escaped her.
The depth of frustration in that sound startled him.
She straightened up again, tore off sheets from her sketchpad, crumpled them and tossed them.
He must have made a sound, because she suddenly turned then. “I’m so sorry, Anna, but I won’t have any work for you in the near—”
In the few seconds before she realized that it was him, Stavros saw it. Distress and disappointment, which slowly cycled to wariness for him.
She slid off the high stool, holding herself stiff. “I thought it was Anna.”
“How did it go?” he said, his eagerness to know unprecedented.
Folding her arms defensively, she shrugged. He saw her swallow, look away, and turn toward him again.
When she met his gaze again, she looked ready to battle him. “You were right,” she said with bitterness coating it. “She didn’t like a single design. You’ll be happy to know—”
“You think I would be happy that all your backbreaking work came to nothing?”
She had the sense to look ashamed. Theos, she truly believed him to be a sadistic monster, didn’t she? Had he ever given her reason to believe otherwise?
“How so?” he asked, noting the lines of strain around her mouth.
Now, she looked stunned. “What do you mean?”
“Why did she reject them? Did she give a reason?” When she still stared at him blankly, irritation touched him. “I’m trying to have a conversation, not attack you,” he burst out.
“She thought they were far too high-end for her store, way too sophisticated and bohemian for the clientele that comes to her boutiques. Too geared toward the jet-setting club like your husband’s were her exact words.”
* * *
Whatever she had shown her, Mrs. Dupont had refused to budge from her stance. Disappointment settled on Leah’s shoulders like a heavy cloak. Had she risked everything for nothing?
“So what is your plan of action next?”
She pulled her attention back to Stavros, sharply aware of his potent presence in her small workroom. In every conversation they had ever had about her work, his interest had been genuine, and suddenly she felt like an ungrateful bitch. Grabbing the notebook, she showed him the notes she had scribbled earlier. “I did what you said I should do in the first place. Had a lengthy discussion about her expectations.” That he asked so politely made her failure even more real. “So it’s back to the drawing board for me.”
He took the book from her and flipped through the notes. “Didn’t you leave the fashion house because you wanted to give your own vision a try?”
It had been the foremost thought in her head since Mrs. DuPont had left. “Yes, it was. But it also means walking away from a sure customer, and continuing to trust my vision.”
Leaning by her side, he crossed his ankles. The long stretch of his legs in front of her, his tapering waist, the breadth of his shoulders...his masculinity was a striking contrast against her silks and dresses.
“Tell me... all the ideas you discussed today, do they excite you enough to want to risk everything like you did with me?”
Sucking in a deep breath at how effectively he shot to the heart of the matter, Leah shook her head. Talking strategy with him was the last thing she had expected.
He threw the book on the table and turned to her. “Then it is as simple as saying no, and forging ahead.”
“But—”
“I saw Anna wearing that red dress and I believe that you’re talented, Leah. Add to that, a rich husband who’s willing to feed you and supply you with endless fabric. Trust your gut and go for it.”
Stunned into a monosyllabic response, Leah stared after his retreating form hungrily, all of her crushing disappointment from the day leaving her in a whoosh. Every muscle in her body ached and yet she felt like there was a renewed fire in her.
And it was thanks to the man she had deceived and hated for years.
CHAPTER SEVEN
LEAH SMOOTHED DOWN the fabric of the beige, supremely boring satin silk she was wearing and suppressed another sigh. The dress, picked by the stylist and coming with a hefty designer tag, wasn’t ugly per se.
But the classic fitting bodice and the flaring skirt were not at all her style. With her hair pulled back from her face and the cashmere wrap, she felt thoroughly unlike herself. The heavy diamond choker lay against her throat like a dead, cold weight that could siphon off every bit of warmth from her skin.
Blinking, she looked at Stavros sitting on the other side of the wide cabin, his arrogant head bent to his laptop.
She unbuckled the seatbelt and paced the length of the long cabin all the way to the rear and back.
Her back ached from all the work she had done the past few weeks, once she had received the delivery of all the raw material she had ordered.
In the evenings, she had had meetings every day of the week, some arranged by her, some by the man who, it seemed, would never relent in his duty.
She had met with a graphic designer, a contact she had made working at the fashion house, who was designing her website; a seamstress who had come in from the village because, like Anna, she had heard what Leah did and begged to work on them with her, because she loved dressmaking; and with an attorney that Stavros had arranged to take care of trademarking her label and setting up a company in her name.
Tears had filled her eyes when she had eyed the paperwork with her name on it.
Leah Huntington Sporades—Head Designer.
Her father wo
uld have been so proud of her. Giannis, if he knew, would be so proud of her. Even more so, because he had started Katrakis Textiles as a small retail merchant decades ago. But seeing him would mean getting close to him and she couldn’t risk that.
Stavros had stood witness to all of it, a silent specter in the room as the platinum-tipped pen had slipped from her hand a couple of times when she wanted to sign the papers. Lost in the magnitude of the moment, she had felt grateful for his hand on her shoulder.
“Have you picked a name for the label?” his question had boomeranged in the silence, testing her strength.
Calista and she had made so many plans. She had been the one who had pushed Leah into stretching her wings, given her confidence that her designs were brilliant. Had worn the dress Leah had designed to her eighteenth birthday party and had dazzled the world in it.
Holding the logo she had come up with with the help of a graphic designer—an elaborately stylish L and C tangled up together, she whispered, “Leah & Calista.”
His silence beat down on her as she braced herself against his censure.
All her hopes and happiness tied to that name, she couldn’t feign defiance. Couldn’t muster any defense against his intrusion into what was a monumental moment for her. Would have crumbled into pieces if he had pushed her.
But he had said nothing. Neither praise nor judgment.
Only studied her with a strange light in his eyes until the room had swelled and collapsed around them, echoing with her lies and his questions.
The waiting lawyer had finally cleared his throat and Leah had looked away.
After that day at the pool, Stavros and she had fallen into a surprising routine. Every evening, when he returned from work, he would come into her workroom and they would discuss his business and her work like two polite strangers reading from a script, carefully steering away from any number of topics.
And the elephant in the room, that sharp and growing awareness of each other, roamed free.
At least she had made a lot of progress in the week. And by the end of the day, her back hurt, her fingers ached, and she fell into bed exhausted.
To Leah, it felt like the calm before the storm. But she was determined to continue the peace for as long as he was determined to keep her future hanging in the balance.
So when he’d walked into her workroom yesterday morning, his skin tanned in the glorious Greek sun, and declared that she needed a break after a grueling week, she had readily assented, even if the thought of going away somewhere with him filled her with all kinds of tension.
Had not even blinked when he had told her that they would be attending a small party, would be staying away for a week and that he’d arranged a stylist for her.
He had stood there, as solid and magnificent as ever in a white shirt and tight jodhpurs and riding boots, sweaty and sexy and insanely real, waiting for her to argue and throw a fit.
She had rubbed a hand over her chest, as if she could appeal to her heart to stop its frenzied clamoring. Delusional really, that she still thought she could beg, force or control her body when it came to Stavros.
Did he hate how she dressed? The stinging question had come to her finally. But she had nodded and thanked him, like the dutiful Leah he wanted her to be.
So here she was, on his private jet this time, ensconced in sheer luxury. Thick cream carpet that swallowed her, spacious rear cabin with a huge king bed, and the man who was turning her inside out, as always.
Sighing, she locked her fingers in her lap when all she wanted was to sweep her fingers into the elaborate updo the stylist had twisted her hair into.
The weight of her thick hair piled into that unceremoniously tight knot pressed against the back of her head and neck. Tension piled into her shoulders.
When the stewardess arrived and inquired after her, she requested sparkling water and aspirin.
“You do not feel well,” he stated in that final tone of his.
In a movement that was as graceful as it was quick, he reached her side of the aircraft. His seat was not attached to hers yet he was far too close.
She remained stubbornly silent, determined to win the war against herself.
“You’ve been fidgeting uncontrollably for the past hour.”
“If I’m disturbing you, I—”
“Theos, Leah. For once, just answer my question.”
“I... I don’t like this hairstyle or this dress. They make me feel like...” Closing her eyes, she leaned back against her seat. God, she couldn’t have sounded like she was ten years old if she had tried harder.
“Like what?” his tone hovered between resigned amusement and curiosity.
She took the water and aspirin from the stewardess and swallowed it while it watched her.
“Answer me, Leah.”
Fighting the urge to burrow into herself like a turtle, she said, “I look like your version of me.”
“My version of...” He looked stunned. “Explain.”
“In this dress and jewelry, I am Leah Sporades, the demure and dutiful wife of respected billionaire Stavros Sporades. There’s nothing of me in this. It is all you.”
He froze and it seemed air and sound, the very matter around them froze along with him. “I do not understand.”
“That stylist you hired, she—” she forced herself to breathe “—this is what she presented me with.”
Frowning, he ran his gaze over the straps and over the tight ruffles of the bodice.
Her skin warmed up as if she was a flower and he was the very sun she craved. Leah tightened her fists to stop from covering herself.
He cleared his throat, his nostrils flaring. “I agree that it is not your usual...style.”
She nodded, wondering why she couldn’t have just shut her mouth. Why some stupid, irrational, brazen part of her always insisted on putting herself in his line of fire. Why, even as she hated his overbearing interference, she recklessly courted it.
“You are saying that this stylist, that someone in my staff picked, chose...this demure, dutiful little outfit,” he repeated her words, “based on how I want my wife to be presented to the world?”
“Yes.”
He lounged in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “Why did you give in then? You won’t even breathe air if it means following my orders.”
“You commanded an army to help me get dressed for a party. Like any sane person would, I assumed that you hate how I dress. Just as you hate how I breathe, talk and generally conduct my life.”
“I don’t hate how you dress. You do, somehow, own and wear the flimsiest articles of clothing of I have ever seen...”
“That is my style as a designer—light and dreamy bohemian pieces,” she sputtered, affronted.
“...and will probably expire either because of the sun or the cold one of these days, but you always look sexy and sophisticated.”
Little pinpricks of heat awoke all over and her gaze flew to his. He stared right back, as if daring her to challenge his accurate and somehow intimate observation of her style. Or maybe his right to comment on it.
The moment stretched and morphed into something else, a strange heat filling the cabin.
Accepting defeat under the thundering boom of her heart, Leah looked away. She cleared her throat and fingered the fabric of her dress.
“For all my sins, thee mou, I did not dictate how you should be dressed.”
She looked up. “Then she, like everyone else in the world, rightfully believes that you are ashamed of me and decided that her job was to make me somehow worthy of you.”
“Do not push me, yineka mou.” The glitter in his eyes pushed Leah into keeping mute. “Tell me why you relented, Leah.”
She looked away, squirming under his leisurely scrutiny. “I’m being dutiful
, cooperative...”
The words trailed on her lips as he started laughing.
It swelled in the decadently silent cabin, crept inside her, filling every yearning space with itself. Scraped against her senses, like a physical thing meant to incite that relentless clamoring in every cell again.
“When you laugh, you almost look human,” she blurted out.
“As opposed to an alien?”
“As opposed to a man whom I’ve never seen to be anything but rigid, autocratic, and driven by duty and responsibility. When was the last time you did something because you wanted to do it and not because your lofty sense of morals said you should do it? Something that’s totally crazy but feels unbearably good? Something that devours you until you have it?”
Lazy interest flickered in his face. Little pinpricks of desire uncurled within her. “What and when was the last time you did something like that?”
Her throat dry, Leah licked her lips. “I ate half a cheesecake that Rosa baked for me last night. It was heavenly.”
That tawny gaze fell to her mouth. And lingered. “Wanting to do something with an utter madness is usually a sign of why you shouldn’t.”
Leah could very well imagine that mouth, beautifully carved and yet cruel, pressing on hers, could feel the liquid desire skitter across her skin.
“Living like that, with no thought to the future or the people around has lasting effects, pethi mou. It’s a choice that has consequences beyond one.”
“Like what?”
He shrugged, something shuttering in his expression.
“How is it that Dmitri and you are such close friends and he didn’t corrupt you at all?” Leah asked.
“Maybe I’m incorruptible.”
The cocky rise of his brows goaded her on. “Maybe,” her heart beat so loud, “the right temptation to corrupt you hasn’t come along.”
The challenge simmered in the air. But terrified as she was, Leah wouldn’t look away. Something about that hard, unyielding arrogance of his shattered her usual defenses, drove her to one risk after the other.