by Pippa Roscoe
The engagement was a lie.
But their connection was all too true.
She’d been hired to repair Loukis Liordis’s public reputation, not become involved in his private affairs. Yet spiraling rumors have Loukis demanding Célia play the role of his fiancée. To deny the Greek would be the end of her career, but to agree...?
For years, Loukis focused on one goal. Now he has the gorgeous Célia to consider. She is tempting beyond reason, and perhaps just the woman he needs. They may have already indulged in their wedding night...but will they make it to the altar?
PIPPA ROSCOE lives in Norfolk, near her family, and makes daily promises to herself that this is the day she’ll leave the computer to take a long walk in the countryside. She can’t remember a time when she wasn’t dreaming about handsome heroes and innocent heroines. Totally her mother’s fault, of course—she gave Pippa her first romance to read at the age of seven! She is inconceivably happy that she gets to share those daydreams with you. Follow her on Twitter @PippaRoscoe.
Also by Pippa Roscoe
Conquering His Virgin Queen
Virgin Princess’s Marriage Debt
Demanding His Billion-Dollar Heir
Once Upon a Temptation collection
Taming the Big Bad Billionaire
The Winners’ Circle miniseries
A Ring to Take His Revenge
Claimed for the Greek’s Child
Reclaimed by the Powerful Sheikh
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.
Rumours Behind the Greek’s Wedding
Pippa Roscoe
www.millsandboon.co.uk
ISBN: 978-1-474-09841-0
RUMOURS BEHIND THE GREEK’S WEDDING
© 2020 Pippa Roscoe
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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Text to speech
To Lady Penelope, a most excellent and
definitely non-fictitious drinking partner.
This dedication is for friends and drunken promises.
Sláinte.
Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
About the Author
Booklist
Title Page
Copyright
Note to Readers
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
EPILOGUE
Extract
About the Publisher
CHAPTER ONE
‘BONSOIR, CHARITON ENDEAVOURS.’
‘I will speak with Célia d’Argent.’
‘May I ask who’s calling?’
‘You can warn her that it’s Loukis Liordis.’
‘Consider her warned. What can I do for you this time, Mr Liordis?’
Only a brief pause hinted at any semblance of recognition from her client. And Célia d’Argent meant recognition. For Liordis would never lower himself to feel as human an emotion as contrition. If anything, the small moment had been one of reprimand, one that hinted it should have been for her to feel contrite. And normally Célia would be mortified to utter such a response. But this wasn’t such an occasion. Loukis Liordis, Greek billionaire, renowned playboy and presently the biggest pain in her neck, had driven Célia beyond the brink of her usually impeccable civility.
‘You answer your own phone?’ he demanded as if such a thing should have been beneath her.
‘I do when it is nine thirty at night, Mr Liordis.’
‘What has that to do with anything?’
The absolute gall of the man!
Célia glared at her reflection in the windows of her office. Loukis might have been their first client, and might be the reason why she and her business partner Ella Riding had been able to achieve the success that they had enjoyed in the last few months, but that didn’t mean she had to like him, or jump to his every command. Just the majority of them.
‘You can explain to me how it is that you have spectacularly failed to deliver on your promise, Mademoiselle d’Argent.’
Célia frowned, mentally scanning through the lists of current events they had planned for him. ‘I’m not quite sure what you mean, Mr Lio—’
‘I will speak with Ella, then.’
Célia ground her teeth, not caring whether he heard the sound through the phone or not. She hated that his words had spread anxiety through her chest. Hated that her pulse was beginning to speed up and a wave of insecurity threatened to overwhelm her.
‘I am afraid that is not possible.’
‘Why not?’
‘As I have explained—’ many, many times ‘—Ella is presently on maternity leave.’
‘Surely she is able to pick up a phone?’
‘No, Mr Liordis. She is not. Now, if you could, I would like the opportunity to hear your concerns.’ She wouldn’t, of course. It was late, she hadn’t even had dinner, and the hastily consumed half-lunch was now a distant memory.
‘My concern is that you have not fulfilled your obligation.’
‘Which obligation are we speaking of?’
‘The one that would restore my reputation, Ms d’Argent.’
&n
bsp; Célia dropped into the soft leather chair that was her favourite piece of office furniture and swirled round to her computer, absolutely speechless.
‘You have nothing to say?’
‘Forgive me, I was just checking the letterhead of our company stationery. At no point or place does it say that we are in the reputation business. Our role is—’
‘I know what your role is, and don’t be crass, Ms d’Argent. Ella—and by extension I presume you—knew exactly why it was that I signed on with your company. And the resulting publicity from my first event with your company was not positive.’
‘I appreciate that. I do. While the charity event backed by you and your company has given the Erythra Foundation the ability to do some incredible things in the future, personally for you, it has perhaps not gone as well as we had envisaged. Quite possibly down to the fact that you did not deem it important enough to make an appearance.’
The line went completely quiet. Icy. Frigid even. And Célia suddenly realised that she had gone too far. It was not for her to question her client. No. The headlines following the event had done that well enough. That she and they appeared aligned in the belief that he had, once again, found himself in bed with his lady du jour—a lady probably of statuesque physique, impeccable proportions and in all likelihood platinum blonde—was neither here nor there.
‘We will talk about this further.’
Before she could even offer the possibility of a meeting, the line went dead, and the phone went limp in her hand.
What had she just done?
She never spoke to people that way, let alone their most valuable client. But Loukis’s constant hounding over the last few months, his absolute determination for everything to be perfect had driven her and her team out of their minds. In the months since Ella had signed him in Fiji, Chariton Endeavours had taken on even more clients and had been absolutely run off their feet working hard to fulfil their promise to both the business side and the charitable side of their organisation. They’d undertaken twelve events in the last month alone, and all without Ella, who was Célia’s rock, sounding board and confidante.
In truth Célia was exhausted, which was the only reason that she had let her usually ironclad guard down and said exactly what had been on her mind. She ran a slightly trembling hand over her face and finally put the phone down.
Tomorrow she would have to do damage limitation. But for now, she needed to return to her apartment and sleep. Eat. Perhaps even indulge in a cool white glass of Australian Pino Gris.
That decision rose within her like defiance, as if she still had to justify something as silly as her taste in wine to her father, even if she did imagine a look of abject horror crossing the proud Frenchman’s features. His distant disapproval a constant presence in their interaction. But as Célia looked out at the Parisian streets from her window, she mentally shielded herself from being drawn down that dark path.
She grabbed her bag, her keys, locked the front door of the ground-floor office and turned onto the street only to pull up short.
The absolute gall of the man!
In a dramatic turn of his recent luck, Loukis Liordis had found a parking space just outside Chariton Endeavours about thirty minutes earlier. He had terminated his call to Célia d’Argent only ten minutes ago and was now leaning against the sleek McLaren supercar he’d leased for his time in France, scrolling through the latest headlines pontificating on his absence from the charity gala last week. Each successive screenshot fuelled an ire ignited by the steely voiced Célia.
If it hadn’t been for the barely audible gasp of indignation he might not have even noticed her departure from the building. He certainly would not have noticed her. But that was partly due to the fact that, dressed in what could only be described as a deeply unappealing beige top, she had been camouflaged by the stonework behind her. And had it not been for a pair of black jeans he might not even have known she was there. Especially since the moment she’d caught sight of him, she had pulled up short and not moved a muscle.
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Barely.
‘Ms d’Ar—’
‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded.
He’d barely taken a breath before she continued, ‘You can’t be here.’ Finishing the inhalation, slowly, he locked a well-honed, utterly devastating gaze on her and tried again. ‘Ms d’Argent, as I said. We need to talk further.’
‘Not now.’
‘Yes now. I am needed back in Greece first thing tomorrow morning,’ he said, checking his watch unnecessarily, as he perfectly well knew the time, but it was not bad for an on-the-spot dramatic effect.
Having done so, he levered himself from where he leaned against the car and held open the passenger door. ‘Shall we?’
‘No, we shall not,’ she hissed as she skirted around him and away from the open door as if he posed some great threat. Fine. He closed the door.
‘Célia,’ he called out before she could get much further. ‘We do need to talk.’
It must have been the change in his voice that stopped her retreat. It wasn’t the charming playboy tone that had done him both great success and great damage only a few years before. Before everything he’d known had come crashing down about his ears. It wasn’t the tone he’d used to seduce, or amuse, to charm, placate or cajole. Neither was it the autocratic arrogant, commanding, brook-no-argument voice he’d used on her earlier. Strangely enough it was none of the façades he’d adopted over the years, but the tone of his own true self that halted her departure.
He watched her take a deep breath and remembered just how beautiful he found her. Her face was almost startling in comparison to the bland taste in clothing. Broad features made the most of the sharp cheekbones that were contrasted with lips that were a small, delicate cupid’s bow. Eyes, wide in shock, were of the purest amber. Her hair had been piled up as if thoughtlessly in a messy bun, but the little of what he could see hinted at rich auburn tones he wanted to investigate further. Her rich, creamy skin was covered in a light spattering of freckles that the horrid T-shirt did nothing for. But no matter how appealing and refreshing he found her, it was not why he was here.
‘Mr Liordis. I am sorry, but I really do need to eat.’
‘We have reservations at Comte Croix.’
‘I... I’m hardly dressed for—’
‘Anything other than paintballing? I had noticed. But as you’ll be with me, I’m sure they’ll make an exception.’
A blush rose to the creamiest of skin on her cheeks, blotting out the subtle shades of her freckles. He opened the door for her once again and as she passed before him he inhaled the sweet scent of orange and herbs, basil perhaps, and pressed down the urge for more. More was certainly not on the menu tonight. Or any other night, quite possibly, for the next ten years or so. In that moment he cursed his mother all over again and wished her safely and securely to hell.
Célia pressed herself deeply into the plush leather of the sleek supercar wishing she were anywhere but right there, next to Loukis Liordis. It was one thing to be sharp with him on the phone, but altogether something else to be within touching distance of such a...such a... Well, she wasn’t blind. The renowned Greek billionaire playboy was utterly overwhelming in person.
From this angle she couldn’t miss the thick waves of dark hair that had been pushed back from a proud forehead as if conspiring to show off his innate beauty. His brows were low above eyes that were busy scanning the lamplit Parisian streets. Eyes that she’d chastised herself already for comparing to rich espresso the one and only previous time she’d met him.
He’d come to the office before Ella’s maternity leave and their brief introduction had sent seismic shock waves through Célia. Not because of any special attention he’d directed her way. No, in fact he’d barely raked a glance across her features. But that glance had fired something within her. Somet
hing she’d thought dormant. And it had been enough. Enough to warn her she would have to be on her guard around him.
Her eyes were drawn back to his tense jawline, strong enough to demand attention, despite the keep away aura that seemed to fill the car. The powerful angle of his cheekbones highlighted the bridge of his nose—the slight kink there hinting towards a years-old break, perhaps. But it was his lips that really got to her. They appeared ever so slightly pursed, as if intentionally drawing her gaze to the centre of his upper lip, where it swept downwards at the same point as his lower lip lent upwards just a little.
And then those lips moved. Quirking into a side-angled smile as he caught her openly staring at him.
Kill me now. Please.
She pressed even further back into the seat, trying to make herself invisible.
‘If you want to move the seat back—’
‘Non, merci.’
He simply nodded in response, never once having taken his eyes off the road, nor loosening the smile that quirked his lips.
She hated the painful blush that stole over her cheeks. Hated dealing with the rich clients Ella sourced, and wished for the hundredth time that day her best friend and business partner weren’t on maternity leave. But no matter how much she did, Célia would never begrudge the happiness Ella had found with Roman. Despite a deeply rocky start, they had found their happy-ever-after. One that she couldn’t ever imagine for herself. Not after...
Her thoughts were cut off as the car pulled off the road towards the large sprawling entrance of the famous Parisian restaurant. Taking a deep breath, she forced her mind into a semblance of order. ‘So what did you—’
‘We’re here,’ he announced, either purposely or unnecessarily interrupting her.
She clenched her jaw and took a deep breath in through her nose. He might be the most attractive man she’d ever seen, but he was also the most infuriating. As he exited the car, she grabbed her bag from the footwell, making sure she hadn’t marked or scuffed any of the furnishings, wishing she could erase her presence from the car as much as the evening. She was about to reach for the handle when the car door swung open, to reveal Loukis standing there, offering her his hand.