His Greek Wedding Night Debt (Mills & Boon Modern)
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She owes him a wedding night...
He’ll collect it in Greece!
It’s heart-stopping for architect Helena to learn that her mystery client is Theo Nikolaidis—her ex-fiancé! Unwilling to sacrifice her hard-fought independence, she ended their engagement, but memories of their passion were harder to leave behind...
Theo has one goal: seeking vengeance on his runaway bride! Yet their return to the Greek island they had planned to call home complicates everything. Theo can’t escape their past...or the intense connection that spectacularly reignites! Will this tycoon be tempted to rewrite the rules of his revenge?
MICHELLE SMART’s love affair with books started when she was a baby and would cuddle them in her cot. A voracious reader of all genres, she found her love of romance established when she stumbled across her first Mills & Boon book at the age of twelve. She’s been reading them—and writing them—ever since. Michelle lives in Northamptonshire, England, with her husband and two young Smarties.
Also by Michelle Smart
The Sicilian’s Bought Cinderella
Her Sicilian Baby Revelation
Cinderella Seductions miniseries
A Cinderella to Secure His Heir
The Greek’s Pregnant Cinderella
Passion in Paradise collection
A Passionate Reunion in Fiji
Rings of Vengeance miniseries
Billionaire’s Bride for Revenge
Marriage Made in Blackmail
Billionaire’s Baby of Redemption
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.
His Greek Wedding Night Debt
Michelle Smart
www.millsandboon.co.uk
ISBN: 978-1-474-09807-6
HIS GREEK WEDDING NIGHT DEBT
© 2020 Michelle Smart
Published in Great Britain 2020
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
About the Author
Booklist
Title Page
Copyright
Note to Readers
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
EPILOGUE
Extract
About the Publisher
CHAPTER ONE
HELENA ARMSTRONG GAVE her appearance one final look-over.
Mascara and eyeliner intact and unsmudged? Check.
Nude lipstick on the lips and not the teeth? Check.
Thick chestnut hair secured in a professional bun at the base of the neck without any stray distracting strands? Check.
Silver and blue swirl tailored A-line skirt clean and uncreased? Check.
Black blouse clean and uncreased and no gapping around the bust? Check.
Black tights ladder free? Check.
Black heels clean if not easy to walk in? Check.
Thick-framed spectacles fingerprint free? Check.
Drawing tube ready to grab hold of? Check.
Heartbeat under vague semblance of control...? Oh, well, a girl couldn’t have everything.
Helena was as ready and prepared as she could be. It was time to make her first major pitch to a client. The blueprints she’d spent a month toiling over were ready to be unveiled to the mystery client who’d driven them all to distraction.
The mystery client, who’d used lawyers up to this point to remain under the cloak of anonymity—which in itself had led to fevered speculation within the firm as to who he or she could be—had invited their firm and four others to pitch for the opportunity to design a house for him. Or her. This would be no ordinary house, nor even an ordinary mansion. The successful lead architect would be flown to a Greek island, name still to be revealed, and tasked with designing a thousand-square-metre villa in traditional Cycladic style from scratch. Each firm was to put forward an architect with an understanding of the Greek language and a leaning towards classical European architecture to pitch. Helena, who had a Greek mother and an adoration of classical architecture, fitted the bill perfectly for her firm. Her father’s cruel manner in forcing the Greek language on her had finally paid off.
She’d swallowed her unease at the thought of having to work on an island that was part of the country she’d spent three years actively avoiding, and thrown herself into the pitch. She hadn’t fooled herself into thinking she had a chance of winning as no doubt she would be the youngest and least experienced but it was good practice and the successful pitch would be rewarded with a prize unlike any other. Not only would the successful firm make a good sum from it, but also the lead architect would receive a hefty signing-on bonus and a completion bonus, which together would enable Helena to write off her mountain of debt and have a little spare. All she’d been tasked to do for the pitch was show how she would turn an old Greek school into a trio of luxury holiday-let apartments.
Helena headed through the open-plan layout to the boardroom with murmurs of ‘good luck’ ringing in her ears. The majority of the staff had watched her develop and mature from a naïve twenty-one-year-old graduate to a twe
nty-six-year-old architect.
When she walked through the boardroom door, she was fortified to meet Stanley’s eye and be on the receiving end of an encouraging wink. She wanted desperately to make the architect who’d taken her under his wing five years ago proud. She’d worked under him for a year when she’d first graduated and he’d then made himself available whenever she needed him during her masters and ensured there was a place within his firm for her last year of work experience before she took her final exam. Stanley had been the one to create a permanent role for her when, after seven years of toil, she became a bona fide architect in her own right.
Along with Stanley were the two other senior partners, a PA and the mystery client, whose back was to the door and who made no effort to turn and greet her.
Her first thought was that the mystery client was a man.
Her second thought was that the staff backing the mystery client’s being a celebrity were on the money because, even with his back turned, recognition flashed through her.
Helena hurried to her designated seat opposite him, a warm, welcoming smile on her lips, and finally saw his face.
And that was the moment all her thoughts turned to dust as her brain froze.
The man sitting opposite her in the mystery client’s chair was Theo Nikolaidis. The same Theo Nikolaidis she’d jilted three years ago, twenty-four hours before they’d been due to marry.
Theo didn’t bother hiding the wide grin that formed on his lips.
This moment, when he wiped the smile off Helena Armstrong’s face, was a moment to savour, a moment deserving of a glass of fine wine and, if he were a man for exquisite canapés, a plateful of them. As it was, Theo was a man who preferred hearty food but a huge bowl of his grandmother’s kokkinisto didn’t quite fit this picture-perfect moment.
He rose to his feet and stretched out a hand, tilting his head expectantly. ‘Good morning, Helena,’ he said with an even wider smile and was rewarded by Helena’s beautiful face turning the colour of a sun-ripened tomato. ‘It is a pleasure to see you again.’
He was quite sure he heard a collective intake of breath from the others in the room.
If he had it in him to feel sympathy for the woman who’d made him a laughing stock, he was sure he could conjure some, but her panicking eyes darting from his gaze to his outstretched hand was another wonderful response to relish.
After a pause that would be deemed impolite by anyone’s standards, a small, milky-white hand with short but shapely nails extended towards him. Her fingers wrapped around his for approximately a tenth of a second before she snatched them away. ‘Mr Nikolaidis,’ she murmured, taking her seat and putting her bag on the floor and the long tube on the table without looking at him.
‘You two know each other?’ The question came from one of the partners, a man who had to be old enough to be Helena’s father but who was looking at her with a stare that made Theo want to cause him bodily harm.
Instead of allowing his hands to do the talking—Theo had learned to control that side of himself before he’d reached double digits—he smiled again and was rewarded by the older man paling. ‘Helena and I are old friends. Aren’t we, agapi mou?’
That made her look at him. Her naturally plump lips were drawn into a tight line, her dark brown eyes sparking with fury.
She thought she was angry now? This was only the beginning.
Jerking her head into the semblance of a nod, she unscrewed the end of the tube and said, ‘Shall we get on with this?’
Theo spread his hands. ‘Yes. Show me your designs. Let me see if you are as talented as I have been led to believe.’
Her eyes narrowed before she finally plastered a wide, fake smile to her face. ‘You will have to be your own judge of that.’
‘Believe me, agapi mou, I learned the hard way that reputations are as deceptive as appearances.’ Helena was the root of that hardness. Easily the most beautiful woman he’d ever set eyes on, he’d met her on his home island of Agon. At an unexpected loose end for a few hours, he’d decided to pay a visit to his good friend Theseus Kalliakis, an Agon prince who, at the time, had lived in the palace. As it had been a beautiful day and Theo was a man who enjoyed the feel of the sun on his face, he’d decided to walk through the palace gardens to reach Theseus’s private residence. In the garden he’d spotted a young woman sitting on a bench beside a statue of the goddess Artemis with an open book on her lap and a pencil in hand. Crouched forward as she’d been, her dark chestnut hair had fallen like a sheet over her face and slender shoulders. She’d absentmindedly swiped it away and tucked it behind her ear, revealing a face that, even behind the largest pair of spectacles he’d ever seen, could in itself have been worshipped as a goddess.
He’d sucked in the longest breath of his life and stared. And stared some more.
Curiosity piqued as to what she was doing, he’d sneaked up behind her to peer over her shoulder. On an A4 sheet of paper was an intricately drawn study of the palace. It was beautiful. Using nothing but a set of graphite pencils, she’d brought the palace to life. She’d even managed to convey light bouncing off some of the windows!
No wonder he’d been so smitten. A woman with beauty, talent and brains? He’d put her straight onto a pedestal and worshipped her as his countrymen had worshipped Artemis all those millennia ago.
What a shame he’d forgotten scruples and honour were also wise things to select in the woman you intended to make your wife. He should have taken the statue who’d witnessed their first meeting as a warning sign. Artemis, one of the most revered of the ancient deities, had, according to legend, sworn never to marry.
Unlike Artemis, Helena had failed to mention her aversion to matrimony until the day before they’d been due to exchange their nuptials in Agon’s cathedral. Fool that he was, he hadn’t believed her, thought her words were shouted in nerves and anger. Of course she’d be at the cathedral!
Now, when Theo thought back on that time when Helena had broken his ego, he often thought he should thank her. He could have spent the past three years living a boring, settled life instead of re-embracing the hedonistic party lifestyle he’d been prepared to abandon for her. Truth be told, Helena’s jilting had set him free and he had made every moment of his freedom count...but only up to a point.
Three years on from his public humiliation, he was still to bed another woman. God alone knew he’d tried but his usually voracious libido had gone into obstinate hibernation. He, the man who could have any woman he wanted, had lost all interest in the opposite sex. He still dated—any excuse to rub Helena’s nose in what she was missing out on—but bedding his dates was impossible.
What had begun as a minor annoyance had become a serious problem. He didn’t want another relationship. Relationships were for naïve fools. They involved trust and emotions, neither of which he would allow himself to experience again, but he was only thirty-three, far too young to contemplate a life spent with the sex-life of a monk.
Then, six months ago, he’d seen a notice in the architectural magazine he subscribed to announcing the firm Staffords had given the newly qualified architect Helena Armstrong a permanent contract. Accompanying it had been a grainy photograph of her. The next morning he’d woken with his first erection since she’d left him. Relief that his manhood had awoken had been short-lived. A party that night on a friend’s yacht with a bevy of scantily clad nubile women and his manhood couldn’t even be bothered to wave hello. Not until he’d been alone in his bed and closed his eyes to remember Helena naked. It had sprung up like a jack-in-a-box.
And just like that, the reason for his impotence had become clear and so had the solution to cure it. Try as he might to forget about her, Helena had become like Japanese knotweed in his head, her roots dug so deep they smothered the normal functions of his masculinity. He needed to sever the roots and burn them. To accomplish that he needed Helena back in his life.
This time he would bed her as he should have done three years ago. He would make her fall in love with him again. And then he would be the one to jilt and humiliate her.
And then he could, finally, forget about her and move on with his life.
Helena would never know how she made it through the next hour. Later that evening, on her journey home on the Tube, travelling so late she found a seat easily, she put her head back and closed her eyes.
Had she dreamt it all?
Had Theodoros Nikolaidis really been the mystery client who’d kept them on their toes these past two months?
Somehow she’d managed to pull herself together and deliver the pitch. She’d known every word she spoke was wasted air, but pride would not allow her to do anything less than her best. When Theo passed her over for a different architect in a different firm, at least her colleagues wouldn’t be able to say her professionalism had let her or them down.
And Theo would never know that under her calm, professional exterior had beat a crying heart.
His face had been poker straight when she’d finished her presentation. He hadn’t asked a single question. He’d merely looked at his watch, risen to his feet, thanked them all for their efforts, winked at Helena then swept out of the boardroom without a backward glance, leaving five mouths open with astonishment in his wake.
Neither Helena, the senior partners nor the other staff needed to vocalise it but the subdued atmosphere in the aftermath had told its own story. All the work Helena had put in for the pitch, all the help and support her colleagues had given her...it had all been for nothing.
She breathed in deeply, needing oxygen so badly she didn’t care that it was the lingering stale body odour of other commuters filling her lungs.
Seeing Theo again after all that time...
Don’t think about him.
She could no more stop her memory box opening than a child could resist a bag of sweets. Despite her best endeavours, Helena found herself thrown back over three years to a time when her heart had been intact and her body a flower primed and ready to bloom for the sun.
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