A Cinderella for the Greek

by Julia James

  Ellen’s lips pressed together. ‘I don’t wish to sell Haughton—and I shan’t.’

  He looked at her for a moment. He looked neither quelling nor cynical. He seemed to be studying her, but she suddenly had the feeling that he’d retreated behind a mask.

  ‘You do realise, do you not, that as only part-owner of this property if any of the other part-owners wish to sell they have the legal right to force such a sale?’

  There was no colour in her face. Her cheekbones had whitened. Something moved in her eyes. Some deep emotion. He saw her jaw tense, her knuckles whiten over the chair-back.

  ‘That would take months. I’d drag it out as long as I could. No purchaser would want that kind of costly delay.’

  She would make that delay as long as possible, fight as hard as possible. I won’t roll over and give in!

  She felt sick with tension. Max Vasilikos’s gaze rested on her implacably. Then, abruptly, his expression changed. His long lashes dipped down over his deep, dark and entirely inscrutable eyes.

  ‘Well, be that as it may, Miss Mountford, I intend to view the rest of the property while I am here.’

  She saw his glance go around the kitchen again, in an approving fashion.

  ‘This is very pleasing,’ he said. ‘It’s been left in its original state and is all the better for it.’

  Ellen blinked. To go from defying him to agreeing with him confused her completely. ‘My stepmother wasn’t interested in doing up the kitchen quarters,’ she said.

  Max’s eyes glinted. ‘A lucky escape, then,’ he said dryly.

  There was a distinctly conspiratorial note to his voice, and Ellen’s confusion deepened.

  ‘You don’t like the decor in the main house?’ she heard herself saying, astonished. Surely property developers loved that full-blown interior-designed look?

  Max smiled. ‘Taste is subjective, and your stepmother’s tastes are not mine. I prefer something less...contrived.’

  ‘She’s had it photographed for a posh interiors magazine!’ Ellen exclaimed derisively, before she could stop herself.

  ‘Yes, it would be ideal for such a publication,’ he returned lightly. ‘Tell me, is there anything left of the original furnishings and furniture?’

  A bleak, empty look filled Ellen’s face. ‘Some of it was put up in the attics,’ she said.

  Any antiques or objets d’art of value that Pauline had not cared for had been sold—like the painting from the dining room and others she’d needed to dispose of so she and Chloe could go jaunting off on their expensive holidays.

  ‘That’s good to hear.’ He nodded, making a mental note to have the attic contents checked at some point. There were art valuations to get done, too, before the final sales contract was signed.

  For signed it would be. His eyes rested now on the female who was so obdurately standing in the way of his intentions. Whatever her reasons, he would set them aside. Somehow she would be brought to heel. In all his years of negotiation, one thing he’d learnt for sure—there was always a way to get a deal signed and sealed. Always.

  He wanted this place. Wanted it badly. More than he had ever thought to want any property... He wanted to make a home here.

  He smiled again at the woman who thought so unwisely—so futilely!—to balk him of what he wanted. ‘Well, I shall continue on my way, Miss Mountford. I’ll see myself out—’

  And he was gone, striding from the kitchen and down to the back door.

  Ellen watched him go, her heart thumping heavily still, a feeling of sickness inside her. She heard the back door close as he went out. Words burned in her head, emotions churning.

  Please let him leave! Leave and—and never come back!

  Let him buy somewhere else—anywhere else. But leave me my home...oh, leave me my home!

  * * *

  Max stood in the shade of a tall beech tree overlooking the lake and took in the vista. It was good—all good. Everything about this place was good. He’d explored the outbuildings, realised they’d need work, but nothing too much, and mentally designated some of the old stables for his cars. He might keep some as stabling, too. He didn’t ride, but maybe his children would like ponies one day.

  He gave a half-laugh. Here he was, imagining children here before he’d even found the woman who would give them to him. Well, he’d have plenty of volunteers, that was for sure—not that he was keen on any of his current acquaintance. And his time with Tyla had been enjoyable, but their ways had parted. No, the woman he would bring here as his bride would be quite, quite different from the self-absorbed, vanity-driven film star bent on storming Hollywood. His chosen bride would be someone who would love this place as he would come to love it—love him, love their children...

  He shook his head to clear his thoughts—he was running ahead of himself! First he had to buy this place. He frowned. The tripartite ownership structure should have been disclosed to him at the outset, not be delivered by bombshell. His frown deepened.

  Well, that was a problem to ponder for later. Right now, he wanted to finish exploring the grounds beyond the formal gardens surrounding the house. He could see that a pathway ran through the long, unmown grass beside the sheltering woodland, around the perimeter of the reed-edged lake. He would walk along it and take a look at what he could see was a little folly on the far side.

  My kids would love playing there—and we’d have picnics there in the summer. Maybe barbecues in the evening. Maybe swimming in the lake? I’ll get a pool put in as well, of course—probably indoors, with a glass roof, given the English climate...

  His thoughts ran on as he emerged from the shelter of the woodland. Then abruptly they cleared. He stared. There was someone over by the folly, leaning against the stonework. He watched as she straightened, and then set off along the path towards him. She was in running gear, he could see that from this distance, but not who it was. He frowned. If neighbours had got into the habit of using the place as a running track he’d better know about it—

  Slowly he walked forward on an interception course. But as the runner approached him he felt the breath leave his body. Incredulity scissored through him.

  It couldn’t be! It just couldn’t!

  It could not be the sad, overweight, badly dressed frumpy female he’d pitied—impossible for it to be Ellen Mountford. Just impossible.

  But it was her.

  As the figure drew closer, its long, loping gait effortless and confident, his eyes were nailed to it. Tall, long-legged, with dark hair streaming behind like a flag, and a body...a body that was a total knockout—

  It was impossible to tear his stunned gaze from her. From her strong, lithe body, perfectly contoured in a sports bra that moulded generous breasts, exposing not an inch of fat over bare, taut-waisted abs, with matching running shorts that hugged sleek hips, exposing the full length of her honed, toned quads.

  Thee mou, she wasn’t fat—she was fit. In both senses of the word! Fit and fabulous!

  Every thought about her completely rearranged itself in his head. He could not take his eyes from her. He was in shock—and also something very different from shock. Something that sent the blood surging in his body.

  Thanks to the sight of hers...

  Greek words escaped his lips. Something about not believing his eyes, his senses, and something that was extreme appreciation of her fantastic physique. Then another thought was uppermost. How did she hide that body from me? At not one single point had there been the slightest indication of what she was hiding—and he hadn’t noticed. Not for a moment, not for an instant! How had she done it?

  But he knew—she’d done it by disguising that fantastic, honed, sleek, fit body of hers in those appalling clothes. In that unspeakable purple tracksuit that had turned her into some kind of inflated dummy, and that shapeless, ill-fitting grey skirt and even more shapeless and ill-fitting white blouse whose tightness of sleeve had had nothing whatsoever to do with her arms being fat—but had simply been because her bicep
s and triceps were honed, compacted muscle. He could see that now, as she approached more closely.

  He stepped out from amongst the trees. ‘Hello, there,’ he said.

  His greeting was affable, and pleasantly voiced, and it stopped her dead in her tracks as if a concrete block had dropped down in front of her from the sky.

  Something that was partly a shriek of shock, partly a gasp of air escaped from Ellen. She stared, aghast—Max Vasilikos was the last person she wanted to see!

  The emotional stress of the day, the agitation from having had to commandeer him and tell him she would never agree to sell her share of Haughton, had overset her so much that the moment he’d closed the back door behind him she’d headed upstairs to change into her running gear. She’d had to get out of the house. Had to work off the stress and tension and the biting anxiety. A long, hard run would help.

  She’d set off on the long route, down the drive and looping back through the woods, then into a field and back into the grounds, taking a breather by the folly before setting off around the lake, hoping against hope that by the time she got back to the house he and his flash car would have gone.

  Instead here he was, appearing in front of her out of nowhere like the demon king in a pantomime!

  A demon king in whose eyes was an expression that sent a wave of excruciating colour flooding through her.

  She was agonisingly aware of her skimpy, revealing attire. Mercilessly revealing her muscular body. She lifted her chin, desperately fighting back her reaction. She would not be put out of countenance by him seeing her like this any more than she had been when he’d seen her plonked beside Chloe, and the dreadful contrast she’d made to her stepsister. It was a comparison that was hitting him again—she could see it as his eyes swept over her appraisingly.

  ‘I could see you were totally different from Chloe—but not like this!’ he exclaimed. ‘You couldn’t be more unalike—even sharing a surname, you’d never be taken for sisters in a thousand years.’

  He shook his head in disbelief. Missing completely the sudden look of pain at his words in her eyes. Then he was speaking again.

  ‘I’m sorry—I shouldn’t be delaying you. Your muscles will seize up.’ He started to walk forward in the direction of the house, his pace rapid, with long strides. ‘Look,’ he went on, ‘keep going—but slow down to a jog so we can talk.’

  He moved to one side of the path. She started up again, conscious that her heart was pounding far more quickly than the exertion of her run required. She found herself blinking. The casual cruelty of what he’d just said reverberated in her, but she must not let it show. With an effort, and still burningly conscious of her skimpy attire and perspiring body, of her hair held back only by a wide sweatband, of being bereft of the glasses she’d been wearing over lunch, she loped beside him.

  ‘What about?’ she returned. The thought came to her that maybe she could use this wretched encounter to convince him that there really was no point in his staying any longer—that buying Haughton was off the menu for him.

  ‘I’m making an offer for this place,’ he said, glancing at her. ‘It will be near the asking price...’ He trailed off.

  Dismay lanced through her. ‘I still don’t want to sell my share,’ she replied grittily.

  ‘Your third...’ Max didn’t take his eyes from her ‘...will be well over a million pounds...’

  ‘I don’t care what it is. Mr Vasilikos—please understand—my share is not for sale at any price. I don’t want to sell.’

  ‘Why not?’ His brows snapped together.

  ‘What do you mean, why not?’ she riposted. ‘My reasons are my own—I don’t want to sell.’ She turned her face, making herself look at him. ‘That’s all there is to it. And I’ll make it as hard as I possibly can for you to complete a sale. I’ll fight it to the bitter end!’

  Vehemence broke through in her voice and she could see it register with him. His eyebrows rose, and she knew he was about to say something—but she didn’t want to hear. Didn’t want to do anything but get away from him. Get back to the house, the sanctuary of her bedroom. Throw herself down on the bed and weep and weep. For what she feared most in the world would come true if this man went through with his threat!

  She couldn’t bear it—she just couldn’t. She couldn’t bear to lose her home. The place she loved most in all the world. She couldn’t bear it.

  With a burst of speed she shot forward, leaving him behind. Leaving behind Max Vasilikos, the man who wanted to wrench her home from her.

  As he watched her power forward, accelerating away, Max let her go. But when she disappeared from sight across the lawns that crossed the front of the house his thoughts were full.

  Why was Ellen Mountford so set on making difficulties for him? And why were his eyes following her fantastic figure until she was totally beyond his view? And why was he then regretting that she was beyond it?

  The question was suddenly stronger in his head, knocking aside his concern about an easy purchase of the place he intended to buy, whatever obstacles one of its owners might put in his path.

  * * *

  When he reached the house Max went in search of his hostess. She was in the drawing room with her daughter, and both greeted him effusively, starting to ask him about his tour of the outbuildings and the grounds.

  But he cut immediately to the chase.

  ‘Why was I not informed of the ownership structure of this property?’ he asked.

  His voice was level, but there was a note in it that anyone who’d ever been in commercial negotiations with him would have taken as a warning not to try and outmanoeuvre him or prevaricate.

  ‘Your stepdaughter apprised me of the facts after lunch,’ he went on.

  He kept his level gaze on Pauline. Beside her on the sofa, Chloe Mountford gave a little choke. An angry one. But her mother threw her a silencing look. Then she turned her face towards Max. She gave a little sigh.

  ‘Oh, dear, what has the poor girl told you, Mr Vasilikos?’ There was a note of apprehension in her voice.

  ‘That she does not wish to sell her share,’ he replied bluntly. ‘And that she is prepared to force you to resort to legal measures to make her do so. Which will, as you must be aware, be both costly and time-consuming.’

  Pauline Mountford’s be-ringed fingers wound into each other. ‘I’m so sorry, Mr Vasilikos, that you have been exposed to...well, to this, unfortunate development. I had hoped we could reach a happy conclusion between ourselves and—’

  Max cut across her, his tone decisive. ‘I make no bones that I want to buy this place,’ he said. ‘But I don’t want problems and I don’t want delays.’

  ‘We don’t either!’ agreed Chloe promptly. ‘Mummy, we’ve just got to stop Ellen ruining everything.’

  He looked at the pair of them. ‘Do you know what is behind her reluctance to sell?’

  Pauline sighed again, her face shadowing. ‘I believe,’ she said slowly, ‘that she is a very unhappy young woman. Poor Ellen has always found it very...difficult...to have us here.’

  ‘She’s hated us from the start,’ Chloe said tightly. ‘She’s never made us welcome.’

  Pauline sighed once more. ‘Alas, I’m afraid it’s true. She was at a difficult age when Edward married me. And I fear it is all too common, sadly, for a daughter who has previously had the undivided attention of her father not to allow that he might seek to find happiness with someone else. I did my best...’ she sighed again ‘...and so did poor little Chloe—you did, darling, didn’t you? You made every effort to be friends, wanted her so much to be your new sister! But, well... I do not wish to speak ill of Ellen, but nothing—absolutely nothing that we did—could please her. She was, I fear, set on resenting us. It upset her father dreadfully. Too late, he realised how much he’d spoiled her, made her possessive and clinging. He could control her a little, though not a great deal, but now that he is gone...’ A little sob escaped her. ‘Well, she has become as you see her.’ />
  ‘She never goes anywhere!’ Chloe exclaimed. ‘She just buries herself here all year round.’

  Pauline nodded. ‘Sadly, that is true. She has her little teaching job at her old school—which in itself surely cannot be advisable, for it keeps her horizons from widening—but that is all she has. She has no social life—she rejects all my attempts to...to involve her!’ She levelled her eyes at Max. ‘I want nothing but the best for her. If Haughton holds too many memories for me to bear, for her I am sure it is much, much worse. Doting on her father as she did was not emotionally healthy for a young woman...’

  Max frowned. ‘Did she not want her father to include you in his will? Neither you nor her stepsister?’ he asked.

  Was that the root of the matter? That Ellen Mountford had wanted everything her father had left to go to her, cutting out his second wife and stepdaughter completely?

  ‘That may be so, alas,’ confirmed Pauline. ‘My poor Edward quite thought of Chloe as his own daughter—she took his name, as you know. Perhaps that led to some...well, perhaps some jealousy on Ellen’s part? Possessive as she was about her father...’

  Memory stung in Max’s head. His mother might have taken his stepfather’s name, but he—the nameless, fatherless bastard she had borne—had never been permitted to.

  Pauline was speaking again, and he drew his mind back to the present.

  ‘You must not think, Mr Vasilikos, that Edward has been in any way unfair to Ellen. Oh, he might have taken steps to ensure that Chloe and myself were taken care of financially, by way of including us in the ownership of this house, but Ellen was left everything else. And my husband...’ she gave a sigh ‘...was a very wealthy man, with a substantial stock portfolio and other assets.’ She took a little breath. ‘Our share of this house, Mr Vasilikos, is all we have, Chloe and I, so I’m sure you will understand why, as well as finding being here without Edward too painful, we must sell. And,’ she pointed out, ‘of course Ellen’s share of the sale price will be handsome.’