A Consequence Made in Greece

by Annie West

  “There’s nothing between us, Mr. Doukas.”

  A voice in her head told her she was careless. Reckless. Asking for trouble.

  “Isn’t there? Are you absolutely sure, Cora? Because it feels to me as if we share...something.”

  He lifted his hand, hard fingers spreading over her jaw, his thumb a mere heartbeat from her mouth.

  She struggled to keep her voice even. Admitting he was right would be a fatal error. “Sorry, Mr. Doukas. You must be imagining it.”

  His nostrils flared on an indrawn breath and something flashed across his features. It didn’t look like anger.

  “Maybe you’re right. After all, what could we have in common?”

  Cora didn’t move. She couldn’t, because while her brain told her to leave, every cell in her body screamed that this was exactly where she wanted to be.

  “Unless, of course, it’s this.”

  His head swooped down to hers and her lips parted on a silent sigh of relief.

  Growing up near the beach, Annie West spent lots of time observing tall, burnished lifeguards—early research! Now she spends her days fantasizing about gorgeous men and their love lives. Annie has been a reader all her life. She also loves travel, long walks, good company and great food. You can contact her at annie@annie-west.com or via PO Box 1041, Warners Bay, NSW 2282, Australia.

  Books by Annie West

  Harlequin Presents

  Demanding His Desert Queen

  Contracted to Her Greek Enemy

  Claiming His Out-of-Bounds Bride

  The Sheikh’s Marriage Proclamation

  Pregnant with His Majesty’s Heir

  Secret Heirs of Billionaires

  Sheikh’s Royal Baby Revelation

  Sovereigns and Scandals

  Revelations of a Secret Princess

  The King’s Bride by Arrangement

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  Annie West

  A Consequence Made in Greece

  Once again, with feeling, thank you to Abby Green, Anna Campbell and Efthalia Pegios, for your help when I needed it.

  Contents

  PROLOGUE

  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

  EXCERPT FROM NINE MONTHS TO TAME THE TYCOON BY CHANTELLE SHAW

  PROLOGUE

  ‘ARE YOU SURE you don’t want to join me?’

  Strato slitted his eyes against the sun, taking in the topless woman in his superyacht’s swimming pool. Her breasts bobbed in the water but her blonde hair was dry and perfectly styled.

  ‘No. You carry on.’

  If he wanted to swim he’d dive off the boat. The waters in this part of western Greece were like crystal. And when Strato swam it was a workout, not a loll in a pool he could traverse in six strokes.

  And if he wanted a woman...

  That was the problem. He didn’t want this woman.

  Four days had been ample to remind him he didn’t like mindless chatter. That celebrity gossip was no match for an intellectually stimulating discussion or a sense of humour.

  And that manufactured passion was no substitute for the real thing. She was enthusiastic, or able to feign enthusiasm, yet there was something lacking.

  Strato frowned. There was always something lacking.

  The problem, he realised with sudden insight, was with him, not her.

  He’d avoided deep attachments and emotional relationships since he was old enough to understand their inherent danger. He’d spent his adult life with women content to abide by those restrictions. Ones who enjoyed a good time and a good party. Yet he grew increasingly restless and dissatisfied.

  That accounted for his spur of the moment decision to invite Liv and her friend aboard. But instead of enjoying their company, he increasingly avoided them. At least previous lovers had been engaging and there’d been mutual respect and interest.

  She pouted, tilting her head coquettishly. ‘If you don’t want to swim, I could give you a massage.’

  Strato shivered. What he wanted was to be left alone. He didn’t want bony fingers kneading his shoulders as a prelude to sex that would leave him feeling even emptier than before. If he needed a massage his sports masseur/personal trainer was aboard.

  ‘Perhaps you’d prefer something else?’ a throaty voice purred. Strato turned to see his other guest emerge from indoors. She moved sinuously, hips forward and shoulders back, showing off her lean model’s body.

  Her long hair swung around her shoulders as she watched him from the corner of her eye. Beneath the translucent jewelled caftan she was naked. Her lips curved in a smile that was half invitation, half hungry.

  Strato knew her real hunger was reserved for his wealth.

  He suppressed a sigh. He was being unfair. He’d got what he asked for. Restlessness had impaired his judgement. It had been his mistake inviting Liv and Lene on this trip, and not just because he’d overestimated their appeal.

  He’d specified fun, sex, luxury and no strings, all temporary. But it was clear they thought the term temporary was negotiable, already blatantly hinting about longer-term relationships.

  Strato couldn’t allow them to harbour hopes about permanency. The very thought made his nape prickle.

  ‘Maybe you’d like to join the pair of us?’ Lene pulled off her dress with a flourish to reveal her elegant body, then dropped the fabric, stepping into the shallow end of the pool. She beckoned her friend. ‘Maybe you’d like to watch me and Liv together and then join in?’

  She reached out and stroked her friend’s bare flesh from shoulder to thigh.

  Two pairs of assessing eyes fixed on Strato. He felt the weight of their calculation. They weren’t motivated by desire. Except the desire to please him so he’d keep them in luxury and shower them with expensive trinkets. Or maybe, in a moment of weakness, decide to make one his long-term lover.

  Strato smiled and took off his sunglasses. Instantly two smiles, gleaming and perfect, answered as the women moved closer together.

  What they didn’t know was that his expression hid a surge of disgust. Self-disgust at that.

  Had he really thought a cruise with these two would be amusing?

  Amusement was the last thing he felt. There was a metallic taste in his mouth and his flesh tightened as distaste stirred.

  He’d known what they were. As they’d known what he was. Notorious for his wealth, low boredom threshold and refusal to be caught by any woman.

  ‘Thanks for the invitation, ladies.’ He rose and their gazes raked his body.

  Okay, maybe he did them an injustice. Their interest in his body wasn’t totally manufactured. But that didn’t alter the essentials. This wasn’t working.

  ‘My apologies, but something has come up unexpectedly.’

  He gestured towards the study he’d left minutes before. Let them think he’d received news that required his attention. That would afford them some dignity when he gave them their marching orders.

  ‘Do carry on and enjoy yourselves. But I’m afraid I have to change my plans and regrettably you�
�ll need to return to Athens today.’ He paused for that to sink in. ‘My helicopter will take you back at sunset, or earlier if you prefer. From there a chauffeur will take you wherever you like.’ He nodded. ‘Thank you both for your company. It’s been memorable.’

  He turned and walked across the deck, tuning out the sound of gasps.

  His efficient secretary appeared from inside as Strato reached the side of the boat. As ever he was there just when he was needed. ‘Fix it please, Manoli. And a suitable gift for each of them.’

  Strato stood for a moment, looking across the water to the small island a couple of kilometres away. He breathed deep, drawing in the fresh, salt-tanged air as an antidote to the unpleasant taste on his tongue. Then he executed a perfect dive into the green depths and began swimming.

  CHAPTER ONE

  STRATO CROSSED THE soft white sand of a tiny beach, heading for a cluster of trees. The swim had made his blood pump and with it had come a possible solution to a business problem that had kept him awake into the night.

  It suited him to concentrate on that, rather than the error he’d made inviting Lene and Liv aboard.

  He dropped to the sand where an overhanging branch provided shade and stretched out, telling himself to focus on the difficulty his Asian headquarters had raised.

  Sometime later a pulsing noise made him look up. There was his chopper, rising from the yacht’s helipad. His guests must have decided to head back to the city straight away, to seek out some new sponsor as soon as possible.

  Strato’s mouth twisted. His lapse of judgement with that pair had left him feeling strangely...diminished. He frowned over the sensation.

  Could it be that his deliberate choice of shallow, undemanding relationships was making him shallow too?

  But he could see no way to avoid that. He didn’t want people trying to get close. Yet most of the women who were happy with short, physical relationships didn’t really engage his interest any more.

  Plus, increasingly, they took his warning that he didn’t do relationships as an invitation to try. They didn’t understand that Strato Doukas had no hidden soft spot. No secret urge for a spouse or family.

  His pool of shade turned suddenly icy.

  There’d be no wife or family for him.

  He tasted bile at the thought. The lessons of his childhood would never be forgotten. His father had seen to that.

  Ruthlessly he thrust aside the tainted memories. Far better to focus on work, one of his antidotes to a past best forgotten.

  But before he could concentrate on his Asian business issue, he caught sight of a small boat, white with a painted trim of aqua and red, puttering towards the island.

  Strato sighed. He wanted solitude, not a bunch of day trippers. But as he squinted into the sunlight he saw just one figure, wearing a wide straw hat and bulky shirt.

  The little vessel approached till it was off the rocky tip at the end of the beach. A picnicker? It had better not be a paparazzo.

  The intruder whipped off the wide hat and Strato stared. A she. With dark hair almost to her waist. His eyebrows rose. Hair like that wasn’t something you saw every day.

  Nevertheless, he must focus on this logistics problem...

  With one swift movement the big shirt came off to reveal a figure that actually snared his breath.

  Just as you didn’t see hair like that often, nor did you see bodies like that, at least in his social circles.

  She twisted and bent to stow the hat and shirt and he registered her suppleness—always a plus—as well as her spectacular curves. The newcomer had an hourglass figure. The sort that, sadly, seemed to have gone out of fashion.

  After his slim-to-the-bone guests this week, the ripe swells and tantalising dips of this woman’s figure drew his gaze like a beacon. He watched as she wriggled her hips, pushing down a pair of baggy shorts to reveal more lush curves. Even the dowdy dark one-piece swimsuit didn’t detract for it fitted like a second skin.

  His lips curved. Perhaps he wouldn’t mind meeting a picnicker after all.

  Yet instead of coming ashore, she put on a mask and snorkel and lowered herself off the far side of the boat, heading into deeper water. For five minutes he watched, curious about the back-and-forth pattern of her swim.

  Whoever she was, she was in little danger of drowning. Those long legs kicked powerfully and she moved with grace and precision. But eventually she swam to the headland and past it, out of sight.

  Probably just as well. He’d come here to be alone. The last thing he needed was another woman distracting him. He stretched and rolled over, turning away from the water.

  * * *

  Cora jammed the hat more firmly on her head as she picked her way across the rocks, eyes on the ground. Only when she reached the sugar-fine sand did she look towards the shady grove she’d taken to using for her lunch break.

  And discovered she wasn’t alone.

  A figure lay in the deep shade.

  No one else came to this tiny islet, except in the height of the summer season when occasional day trippers from the main island might stop. She turned to survey the water. The only boat in sight, apart from the little wooden one she’d borrowed from her father, was a huge, sleek cruiser in the distance. The sort that looked more at home in Piraeus or the Bahamas than in this forgotten corner of Greece.

  Cora frowned, noticing the single set of footprints emerging from the sea.

  People who cruised the world in those swanky big yachts didn’t swim four kilometres for fun. Had his boat sunk? He couldn’t have come ashore in last night’s storm. The footprints were too fresh.

  Frowning, she headed up the beach. She hoped he wasn’t injured.

  Her stride slowed then stopped as she got closer. A man lay on his side, his back to her.

  He was naked. The same dark olive colour from his wide, straight shoulders, down the curve of his tapering back to tightly rounded buttocks and long, hairy legs.

  Cora swallowed. Surprise dried her mouth and caught her lungs. She felt her eyes widen.

  This man was big, she realised. Really big, with long limbs and a toned, fit body.

  She was used to fit, athletic men, given her work. Yet she didn’t think she’d ever seen one like this.

  Would he look as spectacular from the front?

  A tiny breeze riffled his dark hair but he didn’t move. Her eyes strayed to a discoloured area spreading from the shoulder he lay on, up towards his shoulder blade.

  Her frown deepened. An injury? Not blood, surely?

  Dropping her canvas holdall, she rushed up to him, the tang of fear on her tongue. Was he breathing?

  She bent and a hiss escaped her. Shock and relief. Not blood. That wasn’t a recent injury. It was old scar tissue. A burn or—

  Muscles rippled under dark gold skin and he rolled over, his shoulder sliding against her ankle, making her jump back.

  Spectacular was the word. She had an impression of streamlined power, of formidable energy before she forced her attention up. Yet that momentary survey of his naked form had her heart thudding. Spectacular was definitely the word. Spectacular all over.

  Cora swallowed hard and focused on his face. A broad brow. Severe, straight black eyebrows and beneath them slitted green eyes.

  Poseidon. That was who he looked like.

  Every Greek had seen likenesses of the mighty sea god, the personification of male strength and beauty. Surely if the old stories of gods appearing to mortals held any truth, Poseidon would have eyes like that. Stormy. Assessing. The colour of the sea she’d just swum in.

  Cora’s mouth dried. ‘You’re alive.’

  ‘You were expecting a corpse?’

  The fine hairs on Cora’s arms rose and something unfamiliar breathed into being. As if that deep, amused voice woke something dormant within her.

  She stiffe
ned and took another half-step back.

  ‘I wasn’t sure what to think.’ Maybe she’d had too much sun. When she met that probing green gaze her vision seemed to blur at the edges.

  Cora broke eye contact and looked past him, frowning.

  ‘You’ve got no towel, no clothes.’ Amazing how tough it was not to let her gaze dip to his lower body. One quick look had already revealed he was built on the same monumental scale all over. Heat rose to her face.

  Those straight eyebrows arched. ‘Is there some rule that says I must have them with me at all times?’

  ‘I wondered if you’d had an accident.’

  ‘Is that why you were bending over me? To give me mouth to mouth?’

  Her gaze dropped, past a long, straight nose to his smiling mouth. His mouth was beautifully formed, almost too beautiful for a man. Except that the rest of his features, from his solidly carved jaw to the high-cut planes of his cheeks, were so overtly masculine. A deep groove bisected one cheek where his wryly amused smile rose more on one side than the other.

  There was no way you could call it a dimple.

  A dimple implied something cute and appealing.

  This face, this smile, was sardonic, not cute. As for appealing... Her thrumming pulse was proof of that.

  But Cora was no fool. He might be incredibly charismatic, with that sexy, quintessentially masculine body. But there was a sharpness about him she didn’t like.

  As any Greek who knew their myths could tell you, the ancient gods weren’t kind, caring creatures. They were dangerous.

  This man was too. Every feminine instinct sensed danger. The danger not of violence but of primal awareness between male and female.

  It showed in the sharp speculation belying that ostensibly lazy stare. In the way his gaze flickered to the damp patches where her breasts pressed against the worn denim shirt. And in the way that smile broadened into something like interest as he saw her noticing.

  And above all in the fact he didn’t make a move to cover his nakedness, just lay there, as if inviting her to appreciate his assets.