What The Greek Wants Most

by Maya Blake

  ‘Oh, you’re despicable!’

  ‘And you’re delicious when you’re angry,’ he replied lazily, picked up the paper and carried on reading.

  The urge to drive her fist through the paper into his face made her take another hasty step back.

  She abhorred violence. Or at least she had before she’d met Theo Pantelides. Now she wasn’t so sure what she was capable of…

  ‘Aren’t you going to eat, anjo?’ he asked without taking his eyes off the page.

  ‘No. I’ve lost my appetite,’ she snapped.

  She fled the terrace to the sound of his mocking laughter and raced up to her room, her face flaming and angry humiliation smashing through her chest.

  He found her on the beach an hour later. She heard the crunch of his feet in the warm sand and studiously avoided looking up. She carried on sketching the stationary boat anchored about a mile away and ignored him when he settled himself on the flat rock next to her.

  He didn’t speak for a few minutes before he let out an irritated breath. ‘The silent treatment doesn’t work for me, Inez.’

  She snapped her pad shut and turned to face him. His lips were pinched with displeasure but his eyes were focused, gauging her reaction…almost as if her reaction mattered.

  ‘Having my sex life sleazily speculated about in the weekend newspaper doesn’t work for me either.’ She blinked to dilute the intense focus and continued. ‘I agree that perhaps those shorts were not the best idea. But I saw the other diners in that restaurant. There were people far more famous than I am. But still the paparazzo followed us into the car park and took our picture.’

  Inez thought he tensed but perhaps it was the movement of his body as he reached behind him and produced a plate laden with food. ‘It’s done. Let’s move on.’

  She yearned to remain on her high horse, but with her exertions last night, coupled with having eaten less than a whole meal in the last twenty-four hours, it wasn’t surprising when her stomach growled loudly in anticipation.

  He shook out a napkin and settled the plate in her lap. ‘Eat up,’ he instructed and picked up her sketchpad. ‘You have an hour before the stylist arrives to address the issue of your wardrobe.’

  She froze in the act of reaching for the food. ‘I don’t need a stylist. I can easily go back home and pack up some more clothes.’

  ‘You’ll not be returning to your father’s house for the next three months. Besides, if your clothes are all in the style of heavy evening gowns or tiny shorts, then you’ll agree the time has come to go a different route?’

  She mentally scanned her wardrobe and swiftly concluded that he was probably right. ‘There really is no need,’ she tried anyway.

  ‘It’s too late to change the plan, Inez.’

  And, just like that, the subject was closed. He tapped the plate and, as if on cue, her stomach growled again.

  Giving up the argument, she devoured the thick sliced beef sandwich and polished off the apple in greedy bites. She was gulping down the bottled water when she saw him pause at her sketch of a boat.

  ‘This is very good.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He tilted the page. ‘You like boats?’

  ‘Very much. My mother used to take me sailing. It was my favourite thing to do with her.’

  He closed the pad. ‘Were you two close?’

  ‘She was my best friend,’ she responded in a voice that cracked with pain. ‘Not a day goes by that I don’t miss her.’

  His fingers seemed to tighten on the rock before they relaxed again. ‘Mothers have a way of affecting you that way. It makes their absence all the harder to bear.’

  ‘Is yours…when did you lose yours?’ she asked.

  He turned and stared at her. A bleak look entered his eyes but dissolved in the next blink. ‘My mother is very much alive.’

  She gasped. ‘But I thought you said…’

  ‘Absence doesn’t mean death. There are several ways for a parent to be absent from a child’s life without the ultimate separation.’

  ‘Are you talking about abandonment?’

  Again he glanced at her, and this time she caught a clearer glimpse of his emotions. Pain. Devastating pain.

  ‘Abandonment. Indifference. Selfishness. Self-absorption. There are many forms of delivering the same blow,’ he elaborated in a rough voice.

  ‘I know. But I was lucky. My mother was the best mother in the world.’

  ‘Is that why you’re trying to be the best daughter in the world for your father, despite what you know of him?’

  His accusation was like sandpaper against her skin. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  He shook his head. ‘Don’t bother denying it. You know exactly what sort of person he is. And yet you’ve stood by him all these years. Why—because you want a pat on the head and to be told you’re a good daughter?’

  The truth of his words hit her square in the chest. Up until yesterday, everything she’d done, every plan of her father’s she’d gone along with had been to win his approval, and in some way make up for the fact that she hadn’t been born the right gender. She didn’t want to curl up and hide from the truth. But the callous way he condemned her made her want to justify her actions.

  ‘I’m not blind to my father’s shortcomings.’ She ignored his caustic snort. ‘But neither am I going to make excuses for my actions. My loyalty to my family isn’t something I’m ashamed of.’

  ‘Even when that loyalty meant turning a blind eye to other people’s suffering?’ he demanded icily.

  She frowned. ‘Whose suffering?’

  ‘The people he left behind in the favelas for a start. Do you know that less than two per cent of the funds raised at those so-called charity events you so painstakingly put together actually make it to the people who need it most?’

  She felt her face redden. His condemning gaze raked over her features. ‘Of course you do,’ he murmured acidly.

  ‘It happened in the past, I admit it, but I only agreed to organise the last event if everything over and above the cost of doing it went to the favelas.’ At his disbelieving look, she added, ‘I do a lot of work with charities. I know what I’m talking about.’

  ‘And did you ensure that it was done?’

  ‘Yes. The charity confirmed they’d received the funds yesterday.’

  One eyebrow quirked in surprise before he jerked to his feet. Thrusting his hands into his pockets, he turned to face her. ‘That’s progress at least.’

  ‘Thank you. I don’t live in a fairy tale. Trust me, I’m trying to do my part to help the favelas.’

  ‘How?’

  She debated a few seconds before she answered. ‘I work at an inner city charity a few times a week.’

  His gaze probed hers. ‘That morning outside the coffee shop, that was where you were going?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What does your father think?’

  She bit her lip. ‘He doesn’t know.’

  His mouth twisted. ‘Because it will draw attention to his lies about his upbringing? Everyone knows he was born and raised in the favelas.’

  ‘It’s part of the reason why I didn’t tell him, yes. But he denies his favela upbringing because he’s…ashamed.’

  ‘And yet he doesn’t mind anyone knowing about his mother?’

  ‘He thinks it gives him a little leverage with the common man to be indirectly associated with the favelas.’

  ‘So he likes to rewrite his history as he goes along?’

  ‘Perhaps. I don’t delude myself for one second that my father doesn’t bend the rules and the truth at times.’

  His harsh laugh made her start. ‘Right. Are you talking about, oh, let’s see…doing ninety on a sixty miles per hour road, or are we talking about something with a little more…teeth?’

  That note she’d heard before. The one that sent a foreboding chill along her spine, that warned her that something else was going on here. Something she should be running far and fast from. �
��I…I’m not sure what you’re implying.’

  ‘Then let me spell it out for you. Are we talking about harmless anecdotes or are we talking about actual deeds? You know—broken kneecaps? Ruptured spleens. Kidnap for ransom?’

  Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘Come on, you know what your father is capable of. Do I need to remind you of what he did to you when you displeased him?’

  She followed his gaze to the marks on her arm and slowly shook her head. ‘I don’t excuse this but I refuse to believe he’s the monster you describe.’

  His mouth twisted. ‘I’ll let you enjoy your rosy outlook for now, querida. I, too, felt like that once about my own father.’

  ‘Is that what you’re going to do to my father? Make him accountable for the things he’s done?’

  For several heartbeats she was sure he wouldn’t answer her, or would change the subject the way he’d done in the past. But finally he nodded.

  ‘Yes. I intend to make him pay for what he took from me twelve years ago.’

  Her breath froze in her lungs. ‘What did he take from you?’

  He turned abruptly and faced the water, his stance rigid and forbidding. But Inez found herself moving towards him anyway, a visceral need driving her. She reached out and touched his shoulder. He tensed harder and she was reminded of his reaction to her touch on his boat. ‘Theo?’

  ‘I don’t like being touched when my back’s turned, anjo.’

  She frowned. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Part of my demons.’

  Her gut clenched hard at the rough note in his voice. ‘Did…did my father do that to you?’

  ‘Not personally. After all, he’s an upright citizen now, isn’t he? A man the people should trust.’ He whipped about to face her.

  ‘But he had something to do with your claustrophobia. And this?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Theo—’

  ‘Enough with the questions! You’re forgetting why you’re here. Do you need a reminder?’

  She swallowed at the arctic look in his eyes. All signs of the raw, vulnerable pain she’d glimpsed minutes ago were wiped clean. Theo Pantelides was once again a man in control, bent on revenge. Slowly, she shook her head. ‘No. No, I don’t.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THEIR CONVERSATION AT the beach set a frigid benchmark for the beginning of her stay at Theo’s glass mansion.

  The next two weeks passed in an icy blur of hectic days and even more hectic evenings. They’d quickly fallen into a routine where Theo left after a quick cup of coffee and a brief outline of when and where they would be dining that evening.

  On the second morning when she’d told him she was heading for the charity, he’d raised an eyebrow. ‘What sort of work do you do there?’

  ‘Whatever I’m needed to do.’ She’d been reluctant to tell him any specifics in case he disparaged her efforts as a rich girl’s means of passing the time till the next party.

  He’d returned to his coffee. ‘Your time is your own when I’m not around. As long you’re back here when I return, I see no problem.’

  That had been the end of the subject.

  After repeating his warning not to mention anything to her father he’d walked away. The man who’d shown her his pain and devastation had completely retreated.

  His demeanour during their time indoors was icily courteous. However, when they went out, which they did most evenings, he was the attentive host, touching her, threading his fingers through her hair and gazing adoringly at her.

  It was after the fifth night out that she realised he was pandering to the paparazzi. Without fail, a picture of them in a compromising position appeared in the newspapers the very next morning.

  But while she cringed with every exposing photo, he shrugged it off. It wasn’t until her third weekend with him, when the newspapers posted the first poll results of the mayoral race, that she finally had her suspicions confirmed.

  He was swimming in the pool, his lean and stunning body cutting through the water like the sleekest shark. The byline explaining the reasons behind the voters’ reaction had her surging to her feet and storming to the edge of the pool.

  ‘Is this why you’ve been taking me out every night since I moved in? So I’d be labelled the slut daughter of a man not fit to be mayor?’ She raised her voice loud enough to be heard above his powerful strokes.

  He stopped mid-stroke, straightened and slicked back his wet hair. With smooth breaststrokes he swam to where she stood barefoot. Looking down at his wet, sun-kissed face, she momentarily lost her train of thought.

  He soon set her straight. ‘Your father isn’t worthy to lead a chain gang, never mind a city,’ he replied in succinct, condemning tones. ‘And before I’m done with him, the whole world will know it.’

  Despite seeing the evidence for herself two weeks ago at the beach, despite knowing that whatever her father had done to him had been devastating, she staggered back a step at that solid, implacable oath.

  He planted his hands on the tiles and heaved himself out of the water. It took every ounce of her self-control not to devour him with hungry eyes. But not looking didn’t mean not feeling. Her insides clenched with the ever-growing hunger she’d been unable to stem since the first night he’d walked into her life. And, with each passing day, she was finding it harder and harder to remain unaffected.

  It seemed not even knowing why she was here, or the full extent of how Theo intended to use her to hurt her father, could cause her intense emotional reaction to his proximity to abate.

  Which made her ten kinds of a fool, who needed to pull her thoughts together or risk getting hurt all over again.

  ‘So you don’t deny that you used me as bait to derail my father’s campaign?’

  Hazel eyes, devoid of emotion, narrowed on her face. ‘That was one course of action. But you haven’t been labelled a slut. I’ll sue any newspaper that dares to call you that,’ he rasped.

  Her laughter scraped her throat. ‘There are several ways to describe someone without using the actual derogatory word, Theo.’

  He paused in drying his hair and looked at her. Slowly, he held out his hand. ‘Show me.’

  She handed the paper over. He read it tight-jawed. ‘I’ll have them print a retraction.’

  Dismay roiled through her stomach, along with a heavy dose of rebellious anger.

  ‘That’s not the point, though, is it? The harm’s already done. You know this means I’ll have to stop volunteering, don’t you? I can’t bring this sort of attention to the charity.’

  He frowned and she caught a look of unease on his face. ‘I’ll take care of this.’

  ‘Forget it; it’s too late. And congratulations; you’ve achieved your aim. But I won’t be paraded about and pawed in public any more, so if you’re planning on another night on the town you’ll have to do it without me.’

  His gaze slowly rose to hers and he resumed rubbing the towel through his hair. ‘Fine. We’ll do something else.’ He threw the paper on the table.

  She regarded him suspiciously. ‘Something like what?’

  ‘I promised you a trip on the yacht. We’ll sail this evening and spend tomorrow aboard. Would you like that?’

  At times like these, when he was being a courteous host, she found it hard to believe he was the same man who was hell-bent on seeking revenge on her father for past wrongs.

  She’d given in to her gnawing curiosity after his revelations on the beach and searched the Internet for a clue as to what had happened to him. All she’d come up with were scant snippets of his late father’s dirty dealings before Alexandrou Pantelides had died in prison. As far as she knew, there was no connection between Theo’s family and hers. The Pantelides brothers, one of whom was married and recently a parent, and the other engaged to be married, were a huge success in the oil, shipping and luxury hotel world. Theo’s job as a troubleshooter extraordinaire for the billion-dollar conglomerate meant he nev
er settled in one place for very long. An ideal job for a man whose personal relationships were fleeting at best.

  And a man tormented by a horde of demons.

  She looked closer at him, tried to see the man behind the wall, the man who’d bared his soul for a brief moment when he’d spoken of his mother’s abandonment.

  But that man was closed off.

  ‘What does it matter what I want? Frankly, I’m surprised my father hasn’t been in touch about this.’

  ‘He has. I refused to take his calls.’

  ‘I didn’t mean you. Since I was also the subject in these photos, I’m surprised he hasn’t called me to vent his anger.’

  His eyelids swept down and shielded his gaze from her. Apprehension struck a jagged path through her. ‘He has, hasn’t he?’

  ‘He tried. I suggested that perhaps he refrain from contacting you and concentrate on kissing babies and convincing little old ladies to cast their ballot in his favour.’

  Shock rooted her to the ground. ‘How dare you take control of my life like this?’

  ‘Would you rather I gave him access so he airs his disappointment?’

  ‘What do you care? It’s a little late to protect me, don’t you think?’

  His jaw tightened. ‘For as long as you remain under my roof, you’re under my protection.’

  ‘Meu deus, please don’t pretend you care!’

  She realised how close she was to tears and swallowed hard. Fearing she would break down in front of him, she whirled round, intent on heading for her room. She made it two steps before he stopped her.

  Flinging away the towel, he cupped her cheeks with both hands. ‘Stop getting yourself distressed about this.’

  ‘Is that another command?’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘You’re angry.’

  ‘Damn right I am. I wish I’d never set eyes on you. In fact I wish—’

  His mouth slanted over hers, hot, hungry and all consuming. Her groan of protest was less than heartfelt and devoured within a millisecond.

  A part of her was furious that he’d resorted to kissing her to shut her up. But it was only a minuscule part. The rest of her body was too busy revelling in the feel of his warm bare back and the fine definition of muscles that rippled beneath her caress.