Rakanti's Indecent Proposition

by Clare Connelly

  He stepped towards her and she noticed, then, that he held a bag in his hand. “Here.” The single word made her insides clench.

  “What is it?”

  His smile was tight. “Have a look.”

  She took the bag with a strange sense. Inside was tissue paper. She lifted it and pulled out the fabric. “A dress?” She blinked up at him in confusion. “I have clothes.”

  “I thought you’d like to come back to the scene of the almost-crime.”

  She shook her head. “kómma?”

  “Yeah. Call it going full-circle.” He took the fabric and laid it over the piano, then began to lift her summery dress over her head. She wore only a pair of cotton briefs. He groaned softly as he skimmed his hands across her sides before lifting the new dress in place. It was a soft grey, low at the front to reveal her cleavage and bias-cut to about three inches above the knee.

  “This dress is showing way more skin than I usually do,” she said uncertainly, checking her reflection in one of the windows.

  His laugh was mocking. “Have you forgotten the ensemble you wore the night we met?”

  “That was Hannah’s idea. Hannah’s jeans.”

  “And you wore them brilliantly,” he pointed out dismissively. “Come on.”

  He waited with a slightly impatient air as she slipped the only pair of heels she’d brought onto her feet and fluffed her hair away from her face. She was wearing a bare minimum of makeup but she suspected that a request to go upstairs and decorate her face would be met with abrupt disapproval and so she simply scooped up her handbag, knowing she had some lipgloss and blush in there.

  His car was parked out front and as they reached it he opened the front passenger door. She paused to thank him but their eyes met and she almost lost her footing. He reached for her, putting his hand under her elbow.

  She was shivering inexplicably. It felt like a date. And that was a ludicrous idea, because they were nothing beyond the bedroom. This was just a convenient arrangement for him, and sooner or later he would tire of her. He had bullied her into staying because it suited him. He was sticking to his routine: going to his nightclub. That she was accompanying him was incidental. Had she not, he would have found another woman to pass the night with.

  The idea filled her with a sense of suffocating dread.

  “You look beautiful,” he said, his tone deep.

  “Thank you. So do you.” She blinked up at him and wished she could remember all the reasons she had to loathe him.

  As he drove back into the heart of the city, she took in the dazzling scenery by night. The merging of ancient and modern, crumbling and stately. “Did you grow up in Athens?”

  He shook his head, changing gears expertly. “No. Our property is down south.” He regarded her thoughtfully, shifted gears, then put his hand on her leg, squeezing her thigh. Instant awareness zinged through her. “On the edge of a small city overlooking the ocean. It is very idyllic. Different to Athens.”

  “I think Athens is spectacular.”

  “Yes. But it is … grimy. Gritty. Voula is filled with white washed buildings, red terracotta roofs, olive trees in pots and stray cats sunning themselves on every footpath. The ocean is clean and inviting.” He removed his hand and she was instantly cold. “I used to swim every morning.”

  “For pleasure?”

  “Is there something wrong with that?”

  She tried to bite back the smile but it burst across her face like sunshine. “I just don’t see you as the frolicking in the ocean kind-of-guy.”

  He laughed and the sound sent warmth running down her spine. He hadn’t laughed like that since the first night they’d met. Feeling the happiness in his voice made her realise how perfect everything had been then. At least, how perfect it had seemed.

  “It was exercise,” he said almost shame-facedly. “And competition. A few of the other boys from town and I would see who could reach the yacht fastest.”

  “The yacht?”

  He slanted her a look. “My father’s. It was permanently moored off the coast.”

  It was cold water to the warm flame of sweetness that had been settling around her. “I see.” Yachts. Villas. Billion-dollar empires. When she thought of how she had been reduced to looking under the sofa cushions, searching for every last penny, it made their circumstances seem like worlds apart.

  “It sounds like a beautiful place to grow up,” she observed softly.

  He heard the reserve she was trying to conceal and focussed his eyes straight ahead. But his mind was ticking over the problem of Elle. And she was a problem. A beautiful, sexy, distracting-as-hell problem that he needed to solve.

  He couldn’t keep her at his villa indefinitely.

  If his mother knew that he was sleeping with the daughter of the whore American who had seduced Filip, it would destroy her. She would find it impossible to ever look Elle in the face. Her presence would be a constant thorn in Xanthe Rakanti’s side and Christos had no intention of causing his mother that kind of heartbreak.

  Even the notion was a red herring that should have served more as a red-light.

  He had never introduced a woman to his mother. Not in a romantic sense. Why was the idea even occurring to him? And about Elle?

  Because he was fighting with fire; playing chicken with a freight train and he didn’t know how to get out of the path of it. How many mornings had he woken up, determined that it would be the day he told her to go? How many days had he sat in his office, thinking of her, smelling her lingering scent on his skin, aching physically to get back to his home and see her once more? How many times had he been mid-conversation with an employee and let his words trail into nothingness as he recalled something amusing she had said, or felt a pang of remorse over the expression of hurt that seemed to permanently haunt her expression?

  Yet every day he told himself there was still time.

  “And were you always destined to step into your father’s shoes?” She pondered, her eyes focussed on the Maserati emblem of the steering wheel.

  “Nai,” he nodded. “But my father’s enterprises are managed by George Papado, an old family friend. With the exception of his shipping interests which I took over several years ago.”

  “Took over?”

  “Bought.”

  A frown creased a little line between her brows. “Why would you have to buy them?”

  He pulled the car to a stop in front of the nightclub. “Because, beautiful Elle, I wanted them.”

  She swallowed, feeling like a bug being examined beneath a microscope. “Couldn’t you just … have them?”

  He laughed. “No. It doesn’t work like that.”

  “Of course.” She shook her head, feeling like a naïve twit.

  He cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand and she had a sense that he was going to say something. Something that he was weighing his words carefully for. Please don’t end this, she thought and the silent incantation shocked her.

  She must be crazy! Her life was waiting for her. Didn’t she want to get back to it? She’d done what she had set out to achieve. Filip’s education was taken care of.

  In the end, he said nothing. He dropped his hand and stepped from the vehicle, crossing to her door with his athletic stride. “Let’s go.”

  She followed him with a sinking heart.

  What had been left of her free-will seemed to have blown out to sea; stolen, perhaps, by the ancient mythological figures who haunted the streets of modern-day Athens. She was a subject of his will alone.

  She fell into step beside him and stared straight ahead. Whatever happened, she was ready for it.

  * * *

  kómma was heaving. As they walked in the doors, the crowds seemed to part, as they had the first time. Now, not distracted by determination and brazen, she considered that Christos Rakanti had caused that parting. He was a powerful man, instantly recognisable, and there was an air of respect and reverence as he strode through the revellers. Elle faltered, slowing
to watch the Christos Effect in action. People looked at him as though he was a God. Women whispered behind their hands; others blinked their lashes and pouted their lips. Men seemed transfixed by envy and admiration.

  Elle’s heart was racing.

  The chasm was growing.

  He paused, realising she wasn’t keeping up with him, and backtracked to her. She was frozen to the spot, her eyes like enormous pools of lead in her face, shimmering and deep. “Are you okay?” He scanned her face with apparent concern and she nodded jerkily.

  “Yeah. I’m fine.” She was so far from fine she couldn’t believe it. But what could she say to him?

  He laced his fingers through hers and brought her with him, keeping her close as he picked a line towards the booths that seemed exclusive and elite somehow. A waiter appeared instantly. “My usual,” he said, his gaze pulled to Elle as though she were magnetic. “And mineral water.”

  Her heart turned over in her chest as he took the seat beside her.

  The place was absolutely humming. “Is it always this busy?” She asked, having to lean closer to be sure he heard.

  He nodded. “At the moment.”

  “I’m surprised …” Her observation was cut off by the appearance of two men at their table. Dressed casually, one man reached over and shook Christos’s hand while the other pressed a kiss to either side of Elle’s cheeks, before they switched.

  Christos spoke in Greek and Elle could only sit in bemusement as conversation swirled enthusiastically around her.

  “I’m Paolo.” The younger of the two said, sliding in to sit beside her.

  “Hi. Elle.”

  “Elle.” The way he said her name was accented, turning it into ‘Ell-eh’. She smiled at him, but she was distracted by the sound of Christos speaking in his natural language. “How do you know my cousin?”

  “Your cousin?” She appraised the man with renewed interest. Was he related by blood to her half-brother? She studied his face for similarities but beyond their tanned complexions saw nothing similar.

  “Yeah. He hasn’t mentioned me? I’m offended.”

  She laughed, as he’d intended her to. “We hardly know each other,” she demurred, not wanting to hurt his feelings. She felt something beneath the table and lifted her head sharply. Christos was squeezing her leg, his eyes probing hers.

  She frowned quizzically before turning her attention back to Paolo. “Do you live in Athens?”

  “Hell, no. I find Athens too crowded.”

  “Do you? It’s a lovely city, from what I’ve seen.” She wrinkled her nose. “Admittedly that’s not much though.”

  “It has its charms. The history is unique. The food excellent.” She thought of the meals Christos brought home with him each night and nodded. Nothing would ever taste better, surely, than food enjoyed by the pool, opposite Christos Rakanti.

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “Eh? Christos. You haven’t been taking this beautiful woman to the best restaurants in town? That’s not like you.”

  Elle felt a strange ache low in her gut. Did Paolo know the pain he was inflicting with the throwaway remark that casually alluded to Christos’s usual dating patterns?

  “It’s fine,” she said self-consciously.

  “Where’re you from, anyway?”

  “New York.”

  “No stranger to great restaurants then,” Paolo grinned. “Wanna dance?”

  Elle stared at him in confusion. “No, thanks.” She softened the rejection with a smile, and lifted her glance gratefully to the approaching waiter.

  She took her mineral water and sipped it. She was thirsty. Parched. Anxious.

  “Two more Martinis,” Paolo’s companion said without looking at the waiter.

  Christos turned his head slightly, his eyes appraising Elle as though she were an object d’arte rather than a woman he’d been making love to every night for a week. She knew every inch of his body but she knew very little of his soul, she realised with a growing sense of discomfort.

  “Excuse me,” she murmured to Paolo. “Would you let me out?”

  Paolo nodded. “Si.”

  She shuffled out of the booth.

  “Elle?” Christos’s word was a command rather than a question.

  Her answering smile was tight. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.” She didn’t find it as easy to cut through the crowd as Christos had, but that was fine. Being swallowed into a heaving mass of people seemed to obfuscate her confusion temporarily. She found a quiet spot near the ladies’ rooms and pulled her phone out.

  The little red circle bleeped at her demandingly from her emails and she finally swiped into them.

  There were two from Hannah and several from Filip. With a sense of loneliness, she clicked into Filip’s first.

  “Hey sis. Exam’s are just around the corner. I can’t wait to be done. What are we going to do this summer? Joey’s family’s asked me to go away with them but I think it’s more hassle than it’s worth. Besides, I’d rather spend time with you.”

  Her heart swelled. Filip. The whole reason she’d got into this mess. And when Christos tired of her and sent her packing, she would still have her brother and he would have his education. He deserved brightness in his future after all that had littered his past.

  “E! Where the hell are you? What’s going on? Don’t tell me you’re still shacked up with Billionaire Brat??”

  Elle shook her head at Hannah’s unmistakable tone and hit reply.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t written back in so long.” Her finger hovered over the virtual keyboard as she searched for the right words. “I’m still here. But I don’t know for how much longer. I miss you. Anything from the school?”

  She pressed send then scrolled into the next email; it was also from Hannah.

  “I know you said to let you know when I heard from the school. This arrived a couple of days ago and I just got around to opening it (sorry). So Rakanti has paid up Filip’s enrolment in full. To the rest of his schooling. As in, three years’ worth. I called them to confirm. So come home!! He can’t unpay it. H. xxxxx”

  Elle leaned back against the wall and stared straight ahead. Stars were spinning in her eyes. The whole amount? All paid? Her relief was profound. Elle had felt, for four years, as though a tonne of bricks was pressing down on her chest. The medical bills from the car crash, taking over the rent of their apartment, learning to manage a household budget – it had all taken its toll. But the worry that kept her awake at night was simple: Filip. His education. His desire to learn. His brilliance. That was her responsibility now.

  Nothing else mattered.

  She could no longer feel anger towards Christos. No matter what he’d said to her or how he’d made her feel, the help he’d rendered was filling her with a jubilation she’d never experienced before.

  Her eyes scanned the crowds right as he stood and began to move through the bar. He was obviously looking for someone. For her? That question was answered when their eyes met and he changed direction sharply towards her. She moved too, pushing off the wall and walking quickly to intercept him.

  The second he was within reach she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him hungrily. “Thank you,” she said into his mouth, her heart racing and tears of happiness stinging in her eyes. “Thank you.”

  Puzzled, bewitched, curious and fascinated, he pulled backwards from her for a moment. “For what?”

  “The fees.” She blinked up at him, her smile so dazzling he felt his gut clench. “Thank you.”

  He linked his arms loosely behind her waist, moving his hips in time with the music. “I told you I would pay them. Why do you seem surprised?”

  She blinked her eyes shut. “I just never thought you would take that burden so completely. I thought you would pay them term by term. That you might change your mind. That I would live with that uncertainty until he graduated.” She shook her head and now a single tear rolled down her cheek. “I can breathe again.”

/>   She was beautiful and he was transfixed, but he was also undeniably infuriated. His father had held this same power. Why had he not wielded it? He’d met with Elle personally, and yet he’d done nothing beyond the bare minimum. Why? The suspicion was unpalatable. Christos found it easier to believe his father had known something vital and discrediting about Elle than he did to believe Filip simply chose not to do the right thing.

  “You can breathe again,” he said finally, gruffly, keeping her close. The song was up-beat but they moved slowly, rocking their hips. His hands ran down her back of their own volition, cupping her beautiful rear with a strong sense of entitlement. “This was a mistake.”

  She braced for it. The words that were going to end everything.

  “We should go.”

  She blinked up at him. “Why?” Just say it already.

  His smile was self-deprecating. “I thought I wanted to be out with you. But being here, seeing the way people look at you … it makes me want to lock you up in a tower.” He shook his head, dark emotions transforming his face. “Let’s go.”

  His jealousy was a palpable force and she was embarrassed by how happy it made her. What kind of modern woman was she that she needed such a barbaric emotion to convince her he cared?

  Did he care?

  Was that why he’d paid the fees in full?

  She could never allow herself to listen to that hope; could she?

  He held the door to his car open for her and she slid in to the scoop seat elegantly. He reached down, buckling her in and then keeping his face poised just above hers. “This is crazy.”

  Her pulse fired in her throat. His eyes dropped to it and he shook his head ruefully.

  “I want to show you someplace.”

  “Where?”

  He shut her door then came around to the driver’s side. His bulky frame immediately compressed the available air in the car; or so it seemed. Breathing was suddenly difficult.

  “Christos?” She put her hand on his where it gripped the gear stick. “I just want to go back to your home.”

  He looked at her for a piercing moment and then nodded. What good was there in denying it? “Yes. Fine. Let’s go home.”