Seduced into the Greek's World

by Dani Collins

  Finding her at the front of the hotel had been entirely too much of a relief for his comfort. Then she’d demonstrated that she was perfectly ready to leave him in the dust for being thoughtless. The warning lights were still flashing. Off her and inside him.

  Only dinner, she’d claimed.

  Take heed, he told himself. He avoided women with standards, being genetically incapable of living up to anything but the basest expectations of him.

  Her honesty and playfulness were incredibly refreshing, however. And she was beautiful, with that skin like creamed honey and her eyes reflecting the sparkling lights from beyond the window.

  “Tell me about yourself, Natalie,” he commanded softly.

  Something like indecision passed over her face before she brought her gaze around to his. Her expression smoothed to an aloof facade, as though she’d mentally tucked away everything personal and only left the basics.

  “There’s not much to say. I grew up outside of Montreal with my mother and brother. I divorced pretty much as soon as I married and worked on contract with Makricosta for two years before I was hired for a permanent position with the Canadian branch. Sometimes I go on-site across the country, but most of what I do is handled over the phone and through screen-share from my home office.”

  “Turn it off and turn it on again?” he guessed.

  “Exactly. Along with some talking off the ledge when files are corrupted or a job change demands a revision of an email signature and they can’t find where to update it. The excitement in tech support never stops, let me tell you. I couldn’t figure out why my ear felt weird the first few days I was in France and finally realized it’s because I wasn’t wearing my Bluetooth.”

  There was more, he suspected, but before he could dig, she turned his inquiry around. “You?”

  “Why don’t you tell me what you know? Through your carefully vetted research,” he drawled, and liked the way her full lips pursed in compunction. He wasn’t bothered. Of course the employees gossiped about him. He made about as much effort to be discreet as he did toward curbing misbehavior overall. The whole point was to let his escapades be known in order to reach maximum exasperation factor.

  Which was juvenile, he realized, reflecting on it under Natalie’s regard and feeling the first traces of shame, but he had his reasons for making himself the target of attention.

  “I don’t actually know that much,” Natalie said. “Your family keeps a low profile. Your brother turning up with a baby with the chambermaid was a hot topic for a while, but since I don’t work directly in the hotels, I don’t have close friendships with anyone at work and only get the odd bits of gossip fed back to me. There are some people I talk to all the time, and when I’m solving a crisis I’m very popular, but mostly I’m regarded as a necessary evil. Right now, making all these changes to the main system? It’s a good thing I have a thick skin because I’m not anyone’s friend. Which sounds like I’m talking about myself again. What a bore I am!”

  “I’m interested,” he assured her, surprised by how true the comment was. “How old were you when you married?”

  “Not old enough,” she said with a circumspect lift of her lashes. “Nineteen. Have you ever been married?”

  “Hell, no.”

  “Wish I’d had your sense.” The wry curl at the corner of her mouth and couched bitterness behind her eyes suggested she was being completely forthright.

  A woman after my own heart, he thought ironically.

  “What happened to cut your marriage short? Infidelity?” Hell, at that age he had broken up his brother’s impending marriage, coldly and deliberately.

  Natalie didn’t answer right away. Her lips pursed in old disappointment as she stared out the window. “The short answer is he didn’t come to my mother’s funeral,” she finally allowed.

  When she swung her face back to him, it was as if she was saying, There. I did it. As if her telling him without showing too much emotion had been very hard.

  A weird, answering pain lurched in his chest.

  He was a student of human behavior. People thought he was superficial and lacking in empathy. He was fine with the misconception. Deep thoughts really didn’t interest him, but he was very good at reading people. Years of living in a house where emotions were so deeply hidden you needed a pickax to find them had honed his skills. The side benefit was that it made him good at his job. Good with women.

  Natalie didn’t want his sympathy, however. The keep-away vibes rolling off her were obvious and troubling. Especially because, for once, he knew exactly how she felt.

  “I couldn’t face my mother’s funeral alone. I brought a date. How twisted is that?” he confided.

  “Adara and Theo weren’t there?”

  “No, they were.” And Nic, the older brother Demitri hadn’t known about. He averted his mind from how disturbing it had been to have a stranger enter their inner circle, as though a member of the audience had walked on stage and begun acting with the players, throwing off his lines. “We’re not close in a way that would have made something like that easier.” He’d barely spoken to them at all, too stunned and filled with questions he refused to ask.

  “But you said you grew up with your mother and brother, so he must have been at the funeral with you?”

  She flinched and sat back, distancing herself even more. She straightened her silverware and looked quite pale despite the golden glow of candlelight on her skin.

  “He died the year before. Can we not talk about this please?”

  “I’m sorry.” When had he ever been so aghast at stepping on someone’s feelings? Or apologized so sincerely to a woman? But his hand was over hers before he knew he was going to reach out to make a connection. “Really. Theo drives me bat-guano-crazy, but I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

  She laughed. It was more of a sniff, and she brushed at her cheek, eyes wet and glowing when she lifted them. “Thank you. It was six years ago, but I still miss him and think about him every day.”

  The waiter arrived to distract them. By the time they were alone again, Natalie had her bravest smile back in place. “Tell me why your brother drives you crazy.”

  He shook his head. “You’ll have me in tears,” he dismissed.

  “Your job, then. Will you talk about that?”

  “You can’t be interested,” he deflected. Where were questions like “Were you in Cannes for the festival?” “Where do you summer?”

  Natalie shrugged. “I’m certainly not interested in myself. This is the most excitement I’ve had in my life. True story,” she assured him with a confirming nod. “You travel, at least. Meet famous people.”

  “People who think they’re famous are boring as hell. That is a true story. But come on. You must have at least one deep, dark secret that makes you interesting.”

  “One,” she allowed promptly, suppressing a smile. “But it’s not very dark. Dirty blond at best. And I’m not going to tell you.” She had decided that, since this was her one chance to act like a carefree young woman instead of a mom. It was harmless, she told herself. This was only dinner.

  “I want to hear it,” he insisted.

  She shook her head, firm. “You’ll think differently of me. But what about you? Any dark secrets falling out of your pockets?”

  * * *

  His guard was so low he almost told her about Nic. The fact his siblings had kept the man’s existence from him had completely unraveled his view of his life and his place in the family. The exclusion had rocked his foundation, and he’d begun mentally separating from them, thinking more seriously about starting his own marketing firm.

  Gideon had called a few weeks later to announce Adara’s pregnancy and to inform Demitri that he would be expected to step up and take on extra hours in the family business. Demitri had been needed again. Integral to the business and to his sister. Things had gone back to normal for a while, but then Adara had started trying to get everyone together. She and Theo were as thick as t
hieves with their parenthood jokes, and he was once again on the outside looking in.

  They weren’t even leaning on him at work anymore. Quite the opposite, which was eating at his sense of self. With practiced ease he turned his mind from all of that, distracting Natalie with some of his stock stories that always drew a laugh. He knew loads of celebrities and had made a career of partying with them. His siblings had certainly never loosened up enough to ensure their highest-paying guests had fun.

  That was Demitri’s job: creating distraction. Drawing and holding attention.

  Natalie was rapt, thoroughly engaged with everything he told her. It wasn’t a strange occurrence for him. Everyone, women especially, responded to him. He’d recognized it early and used it to this day. The difference tonight was how much he enjoyed her attention while at the same time resenting that she wanted him to talk when he wanted to hear more about her.

  They lingered over their meal, finishing the bottle of wine and nursing coffee, steering away from personal topics in favor of movies and news scandals and places he’d been that she’d like to visit.

  “You’re a single woman. Get on a plane,” he ordered. “What’s holding you back?”

  “I did get on a plane,” she argued good-naturedly, shielding her eyes with a downward sweep of her lashes. “I’m here. Dining on the Seine. Thank you for a lovely evening,” she added, flashing her gaze back up to his. “This is what I’d hoped for when I applied for this trip.”

  She’d been looking for a man to seduce her. He could see it and a pulse of sexual excitement pumped through him. But seduction required patience, he reminded himself.

  “Do you like dancing? We could go to a club.”

  “I... It’s a work night,” she argued, but the slant of her gaze told him she was tempted.

  He smirked. “I begin to see why you don’t have a life.” He signaled for the check.

  “Note to self—boss thinks a work ethic is overrated,” she chirped.

  “I’m not your boss,” he reminded. “C’mon. I know you want to tick the box on dance in a Paris nightclub.”

  “Yes, but...” She canted her head at him, nose wrinkled. “I’m not dressed for it.”

  “Believe me, truly cool people do not dress for clubs. They drop in on impulse.”

  “And get turned away at the door for not being on the list.”

  “You’re adorable. I’m always on the list.”

  * * *

  She had definitely had one glass too many if she was teetering into not giving a damn about work or propriety, but Demitri was a difficult man to say no to. He took her hand and wound her through the restaurant, tucking her into the back of the limo and angling his body so he looked at her the whole way to the club.

  “This is a bad idea,” she insisted, trying desperately to hang on to a few grains of common sense while turning a challenging look on him that only clicked into a locked gaze with his.

  His grin widened. “Because it’s turning into more than dinner?”

  “You’re the kind of man who always gets what he wants, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” he answered without reserve.

  Be careful, Natalie. Be very, very careful.

  “Well, I’m only going along out of curiosity,” she excused with a toss of her hair. “Don’t say I led you on. Oh, we won’t even get in,” she added as they pulled up at the entrance where a hundred people stood in the rain, all dressed to the nines.

  He made a pithy noise and waited until the chauffeur had opened the door and held an umbrella for them, walking them to the door.

  “Jean,” Demitri greeted the doorman, slipping him a bill without even pausing.

  Pounding music accosted them as they entered the dark interior. Flashes of neon pierced the violet glow while strips of white stood out in stark contrast. As they wound through the crowded tables and bouncing bodies, a stunning woman with a lot of dark skin exposed by her French maid inspired two-piece bikini lowered her serving tray and kissed both of Demitri’s cheeks. They had a brief conversation, she pointed, he nodded and then he tugged Natalie along with him as they continued toward the back of the club.

  He said something into her ear, but she must have heard him wrong. She looked to the stage, but that DJ couldn’t be the pop star he’d just mentioned.

  Maybe it was, though. A chart-topping band occupied the VIP section and rose to greet Demitri with exuberance when he arrived, insisting they join their entourage, which included a dozen people, three of whom she recognized, two from television and one from a blockbuster movie. More champagne was ordered and she was pressed into a chair next to a movie star.

  Oh, sweet Lord. What kind of life had she stepped into that she was partying in Paris with celebrities? No wonder women dropped like flies for Demitri. He plucked them out of their boring little lives and set them into fantasy worlds where money wasn’t mentioned and rich, gorgeous men flattered you shamelessly.

  Not that she felt the same frisson of awareness and excitement when this very handsome actor leaned in to fawn over her, but the way he kept asking her about herself, as though he was genuinely interested, was enormously gratifying to her small-time ego. When he asked her to dance, of course she said yes. What a story to tell her grandchildren! I once danced in Paris with a movie star.

  He was a bit handsy in real life. Drunk, she assumed. Not outright offensive but awfully familiar awfully fast. He wanted to dance right up against her and she told herself to go with it. This was how the high rollers lived, right on the edge, she supposed. And honestly, if she wanted to flirt with a wealthy stranger, this guy was probably a far simpler entanglement than Demitri.

  He roamed his hands over her hips, skewing her dress up her thighs and she let him, hoping for a flicker of the physical spark she felt with Demitri.

  An arm shot between them, separating her from the actor and none too gently forcing the man back.

  Demitri stepped into the space he’d created, his posture one of startling aggression even though he said nothing, only stood there like a wall between her and the movie star.

  “I thought you were done with her,” the actor excused, holding up his hands.

  Oh, yuck. Instantly feeling worthless and dirty, Natalie turned away.

  Her arm was caught in a hard grip and Demitri said next to her ear, “We’re leaving.”

  You think? she wanted to snap, but didn’t bother. She was so offended and disgusted she wanted to evaporate. Maybe she owned some responsibility for that ugly remark since she hadn’t exactly been discouraging the actor. Even so, it didn’t excuse his talking about her as though she was something to be picked up and passed around. She wasn’t an object.

  And what did that say about Demitri that his women moved through the ranks?

  And, if that was normal behavior for him, why was he acting all possessive? Because he hadn’t actually had her yet? What if she’d been into that other guy? He didn’t have to come on like he owned her, escorting her to the car as though he’d just bailed her out of jail. Giving her a shoulder of glacial ice because she’d danced with his friend.

  “You know...” she began over the sound of the tires hissing through the wet streets.

  “Not right now,” he said in a deadly tone.

  Seriously? She glared at his incredibly still posture, eyes facing front, jaw set, hands in loose fists on his thighs. As the silence thickened, she realized that hissing sound was his breath moving in measured soughs through his flared nostrils.

  That signal of barely controlled fury gave her pause when she really wanted to rail at him. He’d set her up to be hit on and now he was mad it had happened, as though it was her fault. They drove in silence until they reached the hotel. As they entered the lobby, she said frostily, “Don’t bother walking me to my room. Thanks for dinner.”

  “Suit yourself,” he said through his teeth, and walked toward the elevators.

  She stared at his back, brain throbbing with the knowledge it was better
to leave it like this, him going to his room where everyone could see she was not following.

  But she still needed to take the elevator to her own room.

  Her feet carried her in swift clips of her heels across the marble until she was right beside him.

  “I’m a free agent,” she whispered. “In case you missed the part about this evening not coming with any guarantees. So how about you knock off acting as if I’m a tease who bruised your ego by dancing with your best friend.”

  * * *

  Demitri slowly turned his head and watched her eyes widen like a gopher realizing she’d called down a raptor and was being swallowed by its shadow. Her throat worked and she pulled her elbows in against her body, telling him exactly how menacing he must look. But even though he was holding himself firmly in check, he couldn’t shake the fury that had lit in him with a gasoline-fueled whoosh when he’d glanced over and seen that Natalie was gone.

  Finding her on the dance floor being pawed by that overpaid puppet had further infuriated him, making an unfamiliar phrase explode in his head: She’s mine.

  He’d watched himself from a distance behaving like a jealous lover, unable to countenance where this streak of possessiveness had come from, but his desire to do violence had been disturbingly strong.

  Especially when he’d heard the actor’s tasteless comment.

  Natalie’s recoil had been a visceral stab to his gut, making him see how he was tarnishing someone nowhere near as cynical and jaded as he was. He’d been instantly disgusted with himself.

  “Is that what you think? That I’m angry with you?” The skin across his cheekbones felt tight and he heard how low and chilling his voice was, coming from a churning, ugly place deep in his chest. “We had to leave, Natalie, because I was going to kill him.”

  The elevator doors opened, but neither of them moved. She stared into his eyes and he let her see the banked rage burning in his.

  The doors started to close, and he shot out a hand to catch them back. Waving her into the car, he leaned in and pressed the button. “Good night.”

  “Wait,” she insisted, holding the doors herself from the inside. “I probably kind of let him think—”