A Perfect Man: International Billionaires IV: The Greeks

by Caro LaFever

  None of this activity did any good at smothering his errant thoughts.

  The memory of how her brown eyes had narrowed at his command to kiss him. The surprise he’d felt when she’d suddenly tugged on his tie to pull his lips to hers. The touch of her tiny bow mouth as it first met his.

  He wasn’t spending all this time in the cockpit only because he needed to think about the next big architectural deal before they landed in Paris.

  No, the biggest reason was…he was hiding.

  Hiding from her and that mouth.

  The mouth he no longer looked at with dread, waiting for her to snap some feisty putdown. Now, since that kiss a week ago, he’d found it impossible to keep his gaze off her lips, anticipating what it would be like to kiss her once more. After her reaction to their kiss, the likelihood of that happening anytime soon was slim to none. Because of this realization, he’d spent the last week at work putting in eighteen hours a day. He’d excused his fake fiancée from his family’s Thanksgiving event all together and managed to limit his visit to her aunt’s house to a mere hour on the holiday. Arranging separate rides to the airport today, he had promptly walked into the cockpit for the flight to Paris.

  “Looks like you’ve adjusted the altitude.”

  Alex turned to meet George’s gaze. “Yeah.”

  “Want to talk about it?” The pilot’s eyes were keen.

  Another flare of laughter erupted from behind them.

  “Nothing to talk about.”

  George swung back to his screen, his mouth twisted in a wry smile.

  There had been a lot of laughter for the last four hours. Something that rarely happened on their flights. Generally, he and Henry would be hunched over the large center table going through final numbers, final plans, final drafts, while their PAs frantically typed and the flight crew filled coffee cup after coffee cup.

  The laughter came again.

  “Seems to be a happy group this time around,” George observed.

  He grunted.

  “Which may explain why you are here and they are out there.”

  Alex didn’t respond. Instead, he stared into the black night. They’d be landing in Paris in four hours and the sudden stark recognition of this made his head throb. He’d avoided thinking about this deal during the last month. What it meant for his future. What it meant for the next three years of his life. In its place, he’d focused on his anger at Sophia Feuer and how many times he could rile her every time they saw each other.

  But now it hit him.

  Three years of his life. He’d be forty before this skyscraper would be completed.

  “She’s a sparkler, that’s for sure.”

  “A what?” He wrenched his head around to stare at the pilot.

  “Your new girl.” George kept his eyes on the LCD.

  “A sparkler?”

  “It’s a saying of my dad’s.” His friend gave him a grin. “Means she’s full of life.”

  The nickname that had slipped from his mouth at their golden ball came back to him.

  Krotída mou.

  His dad hadn’t taught his kids much of his native tongue, yet he had taught them the word they’d used every Fourth of July. His dad said it was a way of bringing his old homeland into the celebration of his new one.

  Krotída.

  Firecracker.

  How appropriate for a woman who’d blown up his engagement. What bothered him about the nickname, though, was not the accuracy of the tag, it was what had slipped out of his mouth after it.

  Mou. My.

  His firecracker? God forbid.

  “Can’t say she’s much like your first one.”

  “What does that mean?” Knee-jerk hostility flared.

  “Don’t get on your high horse.” George’s tone stayed mild. “I only meant the first one wasn’t right for you.”

  The memory of Melanie at the ball—her graceful arm weaved around her new guy’s burly bicep, her dazzling face as dazzling as he remembered, her voice as gracious as ever—the memory coursed through him and left in its wake…

  Nothing.

  Nothing but a vague fondness and the awareness his pilot was right.

  Along with somebody else.

  Melanie and you aren’t right together. In fact, you’re very, very wrong.

  Sophia’s face floated into his memory, replacing his ex-fiancée’s. Her little round face had been scrunched in a scowl when she’d spat those words at him right before slamming the engagement ring on his office desk. He’d been filled with a rage so pure and strong he’d thought he’d never release it or let it go.

  She had been right.

  The realization stung and contrarily, it managed to stoke his rage at her even more.

  “She was prettier than this new one.” The pilot grabbed his ever-present Coke can. He took a slug before continuing. “This one, though, has more…”

  “More what?” Alex couldn’t understand why he was tolerating this conversation. He and George didn’t normally spend any time on personal discussions, yet for some stupid reason, he couldn’t let this one stop.

  “She’s got more moxie, more zest.” The other man frowned in concentration. “She fits you better.”

  He snorted.

  “No, really.” George put his drink down and went back to staring at the LCD screen. “I know you, Stravoudas. You’d have rolled right over the last one.”

  “You’re starting to sound like some TV psychologist.”

  “Maybe.” His friend gave him another glance. “I will tell you I took one look at your new gal and saw that she’s no rollover.”

  “Enough of the observations.”

  George chuckled softly. But he obeyed the dictate and silence descended, broken only by the whistle of the wind and burr of the airplane engine.

  His friend’s observation was true, though. Sophia hadn’t rolled over in front of his mother and sisters. He still didn’t understand how it had happened. How his aloof mother had abruptly started to mouth absurdities like catching him and holding him in the palm of her hand. How Ceci had been delighted with his new choice and let him know it. How his other sisters had pronounced his fake fiancée perfect for him. He didn’t get how a plump, stubby woman could capture his family’s interest and captivate them within one evening.

  Even though she had stuck her tongue out at him, much to his family’s stunned delight.

  That tongue. That tongue had been a surprise to him too.

  Not because she stuck it out at him in defiance. He expected that from her. The surprise had come when she stuck it into his mouth.

  The cockpit door opened. “Alex.”

  He glanced over his shoulder and met his PA, Christine’s, gaze. “What?”

  “It’s time to eat.” She waved behind her into the cabin, the bubble of voices babbling about some new movie they’d all seen growing louder. “Plus, Henry keeps making noises about working.”

  The final bid on the skyscraper.

  Three years of his life.

  “Although, for Henry, the demands are rather mild.” Christine smiled, an ironic curve to her mouth. “Sophie’s so much fun, she distracts him.”

  She’d also distracted Alex a week ago.

  With her tongue.

  “George?” His PA turned to the pilot. “Do you want me to call the co-pilot in so you can eat with us?”

  “Nah.” His friend took another swig of Coke. “I’m good for now.”

  Another gust of laughter broke through the conversation. Alex heard Sophie’s voice pipe in, though he couldn’t make out what she said. Whatever she said, the reply was another outbreak of merriment.

  He didn’t feel like laughing.

  He didn’t feel like nailing down the final details of the deal.

  And he especially didn’t feel like staring at Sophia’s mouth.

  He forced a smile. “I’m good right now, too—”

  “No, you don’t.” Christine reached across and tugged on his arm. “
Time to join the group.”

  “Go on,” George chimed in. “I’ve had enough of your grouchy company for this trip.”

  “Grouchy?” His PA’s eyebrows rose. “Why are you grouchy?”

  “I’m not grouchy.”

  “Prove it.” His pilot gestured towards the cabin.

  “Fine.” He didn’t have to hide from her. Or the deal. Everything was fine. He could handle Sophia Feuer and this new deal just as he handled all the details in his life. He stood, ducking his head as he stepped into the cabin.

  “He lives,” Henry crowed.

  “I was beginning to think you had missed the flight,” Henry’s PA, Andrea, stated with a sly grin.

  The smile on Sophia’s face fell off as soon as she turned to look at him.

  The reaction instantly swamped all his good intentions about ignoring her and focusing on the deal. Instead, the somnolent rage inside blasted to life. “My fiancée knows how to entertain, though, doesn’t she? She certainly makes me laugh.”

  The edge in his voice, the casual scorn he used only with this woman, caused every other smile in the group of six to disappear in a split second.

  Everyone went silent.

  Sophia’s eyes narrowed. Her brown hair was pulled into her usual tight ponytail and she wore a pair of ragged jeans and a baggy yellow T-shirt that turned her skin sallow. She’d come directly from her bakery to the airport for their three p.m. flight and it showed.

  She was a catastrophe. In so many ways.

  Familiar irritation welled, twining around the rage.

  She was an embarrassment sitting there. It was an embarrassment that she’d been accepted as his fiancée. How could his colleagues and staff believe he’d be with her?

  “I live to serve you and your court, your Highness.” She grinned, but her brown eyes were filled with hostility.

  The other five passengers laughed nervously. They all glanced back and forth between Alex and Sophia. Ready for the next shot, apparently.

  He didn’t disappoint. “If you live to serve then please promise me I won’t see that T-shirt any more in my lifetime.”

  She looked down and then up, her grin turning evil. “I plan on wearing it every day in Paris.”

  “Heaven help all of us.” His tone conveyed horror, yet he had to admit contradictory relief swam through him. She looked nothing like she had a week ago at their ball. No longer did he have to contend with how her natural lashes were extraordinarily long and lavish with a touch of mascara.

  Or how the dress had pushed her impressive breasts into prominence.

  Or how her waist had been tiny and the curve of her hip lush.

  When she’d marched from her bedroom ready for their engagement ball, her breasts bouncing, he’d managed to keep his tongue from rolling onto the floor. Still, he hadn’t stopped himself from teasing her in the limo or making suggestive comments at the party because he hadn’t realized the danger he’d been in. Even after he’d stupidly touched the delicate string of bumps on her spine, he’d thought he’d been merely playing a game to get a rise out of her.

  Not until she’d pulled him into a kiss and he’d tasted her, tasted the flame and flare of her, had he realized he’d been playing with fire.

  Playing with a firecracker.

  “I know how much you care about clothing, Alexander.” Her tone implied he was something less than a man and the long drawn out vowels of his name made the rage beat inside his blood. “But I’m sure you’ll be way too busy charming your emir to care about what I’m wearing.”

  “True, very true.” Henry stepped into the fray. “It appears as if both of you need a bit of Paris magic to turn you back into the lovers I saw at your engagement party.”

  Lovers.

  With Sophia.

  The thought shot right into the center of him with a searing strike. The rapid string of images following the blow couldn’t be stopped. Sophia naked on his bed, her opulent breasts and lithe waist curving into rounded hips and plump thighs. Sophia pulling his body down onto hers, using that talented tongue to drive him insane. Sophia smoothing her tiny hands down and down to his rock-hard—

  “Who doesn’t love Alexander?” The long vowels of his name practically crawled across the room to bite him. “I know a prince when I see him.”

  She shot him an acid glare that stated in clear, cold detail, you are no prince.

  “And my fiancée will always be perfect in my eyes.” Perfectly awful, his gaze shot back.

  The silence following that statement was filled with doubt.

  “Well,” Henry clapped his hands with a pasted smile on his face. “Let’s dig into the sandwiches and then you and me, Alex, have some work to do.”

  Work on the deal that tied him to three long years in an Arab desert making sure every detail he’d designed was constructed correctly.

  Three years.

  He yanked out a chair and sat down.

  They ate around the center table, Sophia and her camera man, Will, and producer, Jake, lined up on the cream couch, while Henry, Christine, and Andrea sat on the other side in plush chairs.

  Alex had chosen the head chair as was his custom. This time he regretted it because it put him right by his loving fake fiancée. Her silent presence beside him was a constant reminder of how rude he’d been to her in front of his staff and hers.

  He was never rude.

  Alex Stravoudas was a gentleman.

  Guilt lay like a hard stone inside his stomach as he stared at his uneaten sandwich. For all of Sophia’s faults, and there were so many he’d lost count, it didn’t excuse his rude remarks. Her nasty behavior didn’t excuse his constant heckling. And more than any other guilt loading him down, nothing she’d done deserved his reckless, arrogant insistence she wear what he chose to their golden ball.

  Not even ruining his engagement.

  It’s only a dress.

  I know it’s so much more.

  He hurt my little girl.

  The memory of her horrified face, her blushing embarrassment, her instinctive move to cover herself from everyone looking at her: the images washed over him, sinking him into the pool of remorse he'd been fighting to keep out of for a week.

  “Are you sick?” She came closer, her voice oily with pretend concern, echoing his own jibe at her during their engagement party.

  He deserved the poke and prod after his snide comments. He knew that, but the fake inflection of interest in her words wound inside and flamed the rage. “I find it hard to eat when staring at that yellow monstrosity of a shirt.”

  “Then, don’t look.” She bit into her sandwich and he couldn’t help himself. He stared. Stared at the way her lips curved, how white her teeth were, how the skin on her cheeks was smooth and creamy. Even the sprinkle of her freckles now struck him as a charming addition rather than a nasty distraction.

  Trouble. You are in trouble.

  “Hey, Alex.” Henry finished off the last of his potato chips and pushed aside his plate. “Time to talk about business. We want to be totally prepared when we hit the ground in Paris.”

  From the corner of his eye, Alex saw Sophie’s mouth tighten in what appeared to be disgust.

  The fact he felt the same disgust stunned him. It must be some strange virus he’d caught from being around this woman for too many days. Because his professional life had always been about building the next big thing. And the skyscraper he’d designed for the Arab desert was definitely going to be the next big thing. As soon as the emir saw the design, Alex had no doubt he’d sign on the dotted line. This building would rule the Arabian peninsula. This building would clinch his reputation as one of the best architects in the world.

  This building would take three years of his life.

  “Our plans are going to put the emir’s country on the map.” Henry grinned at him. “All we have to do is show him your design, Alex, and he’s going to know it’s what he wants.”

  Sophia stood abruptly. “Jake. Will. We’d better nai
l down our own schedule.” She waved to a circle of chairs in the back. “We’ll do it over there.”

  He had a sudden desire to say he needed to return to the cockpit, yet he squashed it. This was his work. This was his dream. “Let’s get going.”

  Two hours later, Henry was giddy with delight, Christine and Andrea were dead on their feet, and Alex wanted to keep flying. To anywhere else besides Paris.

  But he was here.

  And so was Sophia.

  “I’ll take a taxi to the hotel with Jake and Will.” Without even glancing at him, she swung a bulbous leather bag over one delicate shoulder and began to walk down the wide hall of Orly Airport.

  “Sophia.” He was tired, still, the usual irritation immediately coursed through his blood. She was always so damn independent. “You aren’t staying at the hotel with the others.”

  “Huh?” She stopped and twirled around in her turquoise sneakers, her round face scrunched in a typical glower.

  “You and I are staying at my family’s apartment on Boulevard Saint-Germain.” Why he had thought that was a good idea when he’d made his plans, he couldn’t say. Maybe it had been Henry’s sly jab about spending some time with his new fiancée in the city of lovers. Or perhaps it was his maman’s disbelief when he’d mentioned staying in a plebeian hotel when her family’s luxurious apartment was available. However he’d come to this moment, it was a moment he very much regretted.

  “Your family has a place in Paris?” Her brown eyes went wide.

  “The place has been in my mother’s family for at least a hundred years.”

  “Right in the middle of Paris?”

  “Yes.” Impatience swirled around his irritation. “And that’s where we’re going to stay.”

  Sophia and he. Alone. Together.

  True, the apartment had three bedrooms, but the danger still lurked.

  Inside his brain.

  Inside his cock.

  He couldn’t believe he lusted after this female standing before him in her hideous yellow T-shirt and baggy jeans. Her face was creased from the nap she’d taken on the plane and not a stitch of makeup tried to pretty the picture.

  Yet. Yet…

  Heat ran through his veins as he noticed the swell of her breasts pushing against the cotton and the rounded curves of her thighs filling her jeans.