A Perfect Man - International Billionaires IV The Greeks - Caro LaFever

If thou wilt my sweetheart be, Clear, clear water I’ll give to thee; But if my love thou wilt not be, I’ll make it as muddy as muddy can be. The Brothers Grimm

Chapter One

Perfect pastry = a perfect business Nothing on this earth could make her happier than that fact. Nothing at all. Certainly not that oh, so elusive thing as a perfect man for her. No matter what her mother said. “Mr. Perfect’s on the front page again.” Sophie glanced away from dabbing black buttercream frosting on the witches. “Jorge. Why do you read that rag?” “To keep you up-to-date on your friends.” His enormous body lounged in the one chair she allowed in the industrial-sized bakery. Made of hard plastic, the thing was uncomfortable, yet Jorge always managed to spend plenty of time sitting on it, waiting for the deliveries to be ready. With his stack of New York City tabloids at hand. “Alexander Stravoudas is not my friend.” She leaned over the long steel table and returned her focus to what was important: her business. Not news about a guy who’d exited her life and Melanie’s a month ago.

“He was, once upon a time.” “No, he wasn’t.” He’d been Mel’s fiancé for one brief moment, once upon a time, but Sophie, thankfully, had been able to talk some sense into her friend. Mel was now where she belonged—with Jack. And Mr. Suave-and-Debonair had moved on to…Well, on to whatever. She didn’t care. What she did care about was the long list of tasks she needed to complete this evening. She had to get these two hundred cookies done so Jorge could deliver them to the Halloween party on time. Then she had to go into her dinky office and figure out how to execute on the bride’s request to add a picture of her cat to the wedding cake. Last, but not least, she needed to make sure the apricot-filled kolaches were cool enough to sprinkle powdered sugar over them so they’d be ready in time for tomorrow’s show. This was going to be a long night. A shiver went through her. Everything was happening. Just like she’d prayed and dreamed. Pure Pastry was becoming a raging success. “He’s going to be raging when he reads this,” Jorge mumbled from behind the rustle of the newspaper. Straightening, she sighed as she rubbed her lower back. “What now?” “He’s lost another contract.” The newspaper crackled in the big man’s hands as he turned a page. “Add to that, supposedly Chi-Chi Vangra turned him down when he asked her out.”

“That’s too bad.” She couldn’t help the sarcasm winding through her words. She didn’t like the man, hadn’t from the moment she’d met him. Maybe it had been the way he’d looked at Mel—as if she were some amusing toy—even after putting an eyepopping diamond on her finger. Or likely it was the over-the-top wealth and accompanied arrogance she found to be such a turnoff. Or perhaps it was her gut knowledge that the man would move on to a new woman within minutes of splitting with her best friend. And look. Her gut had been right. As always. “You’re not very sympathetic.” Jorge stuck his bald head above the top of the paper and eyed her. “The poor guy’s had a hard month.” “I’m sure he’ll survive.” Her dry tone sugared each word. “Ever since your best bud ended their engagement, it’s been one thing after the other.” The old man tapped the newspaper with one stubby finger. “Before, the guy could do no wrong.” “I bet he did a lot of things wrong before Mel broke up with him.” She leaned back down to finish the last cookie. “The tabloids just didn’t cover it.” “Well, they’ve changed their tune.” He eased himself off the chair, his large belly rolling impressively over tight jeans. “Now he can do no right.” Sophie ignored the waving newspaper and the chatter. It was nothing to her. The news. The man. She had far more important things to think about then Alexander the Great, as the tabs had named him. “Help me box these cookies and you can be on your way.” “Can I have one?” Jorge already knew the answer.

“One,” she warned as she slid a sheaf of folded boxes from under the table. The old man sauntered over and peered at the throng of witches and ghosts and pumpkins. Choosing one of the scariest ghosts, he hummed as the sugar cookie crumbled in his mouth. She couldn’t help the smile crossing her face. That. That sound had been what hooked her at the tender age of ten. Her grandpa and dad had made exactly that sound when they’d tasted her first batch of brownies. The batch she’d done by herself without any assistance from her beaming grandma and proud mom. “Damn, Soph.” Jorge chewed and swallowed. “You better lock these cookies away from me or there won’t be any left by the time I get to the party.” “You wouldn’t eat them all.” She started to stack the cookies in the boxes, placing parchment paper between each layer. “It was your idea to have me donate them to the Harlem Center in the first place.” “They’re good kids.” “And so,” her quick hands continued to fill the boxes, “they deserve a treat.” His answering chuckle stopped abruptly when the doorbell chimed. “Who is that buzzing after hours?” he grumbled. “I don’t like it that you’re here alone after the others go home.” The others being her two assistants. Who, even if they were here, would be useless in driving off any bad guys. Megan would probably start crying and collapse at any sign of danger. Tamika would be too busy tweeting her best friend about the news she was

being robbed to do any damage. “I highly doubt any bad guy is going to ring the doorbell to announce his presence.” Ignoring the continued grumbling from the old man, Sophie headed for the steel door. She’d been lucky to find this space right smack dab in the middle of the Lower East Side. She needed a place in the heart of New York City since most of her customers lived on the island. Two years ago, when it had been clear her exposure on the TV show was going to skyrocket sales, her small walk-up apartment down the street could no longer handle the baking orders. She’d needed space. Lots of space. So she’d definitely lucked out with this place. The twenty-five-thousand square-foot building had once housed an eighties’ nightclub but had lain vacant for years. However, some developer had come along a couple of years ago and started leasing units just as she had begun her search. The place was rough and rundown. Still, with some help from her buddies, she’d managed to turn it into what she needed. Wrestling with the stubborn lock, she finally wrenched the door open. To a surprise. Sophie baked surprises. Supplied surprises. She personally did not appreciate surprises. Of any kind. She stared at him, trying to understand why. Why had he come here and surprised her? “Sophia.” He’d always called her by her full name and it always irritated her.

The October sun sunk low behind the tall spires of endless skyscrapers. But the darkness behind him merely highlighted the brilliance of his presence. He radiated energy and heat and bright. She’d forgotten his vitality, the way his appearance always seemed to suck out her breath. She’d forgotten how much he irritated her. He didn’t smile. Not as he had when they’d first met. Not when he’d still been in full campaign mode to win her over. He didn’t flash his white teeth or bat his blue eyes or do anything to make her agreeable to whatever he was going to pitch. No. Instead, Alexander Stravoudas looked very much like he’d looked the last time she’d seen him. When she’d given him back the bling. “May I come in?” The deep voice thrummed along her spine as it had every time he spoke in her presence. Which had irritated her too, come to think of it. “What are you doing here?” A broad, bulky hand landed on the door. Her gaze swung to the hand attached to the long, lean arm which was attached to the tall, lean man standing right in front of her. The hand also irritated her. Not only because it was now trying to nudge the door open, but because it was not what an artist’s hand should look like. She’d been unwillingly fascinated when she’d stared down at his hand as he held Mel’s, showing off the outrageous rock he’d bought to announce he’d found a bride. His hand had bemused her then, and it bemused her now. This hand should not be designing such beautiful buildings.

He had the hands of a brute. Not an artist. The brute’s voice dipped in displeasure. “Let me in.” Oh, there. There was another source of infinitely more than mere irritation. There was what had sealed his doom in her judgment when she’d experienced it for the first time. His arrogance. His complete disregard for any other person’s point of view. Like hers. She’d only mentioned the subject because it had been important to Melanie. She’d wanted to make sure her buddy was going to continue with her work after the marriage. The work she’d spent four years in college studying. “She doesn’t have to work,” he’d said, oozing his crappy conceit. “She’s going to be my wife.” As if there could be no other position quite soooo wonderful as that. He hadn’t thought about how much good Melanie did every day at her work. He hadn’t thought about whether or not Mel would want to spend every one of her hours cooing over his greatness. He hadn’t thought about his future wife’s desires or the good she did every day. Not at all. He’d only thought about himself. Thank goodness Melanie had left him and gone back to Jack and her work with the special-needs kids at the elementary school. Thank goodness she, Miss Sophia Charlotte Feuer, no longer had to be nice to this man.

Folding her arms in front of her, she frowned. “Go away.” “No.” The big hand didn’t nudge anymore. It slammed the door open and he stepped forward. “Hey,” Jorge exclaimed in immediate outrage. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The brute glanced past her and smiled. Jorge went silent. That smile. That was another one of the things she’d forgotten. She’d forgotten how irritated his smile made her. It made her itch. To slap or smack or jeez, even punch. He had full lips, indecently so for a man. The lush fullness of the bowed upper, the ripeness of the lower jutting out, almost as if the man was pouting. The mouth was too much, too over-the-top. The lips, the mouth…she hated to admit it…were perfect for him. And worked perfectly well in entrancing men as well as women, when they broadened into a gloriously beautiful smile. The one he wore right now. “I didn’t realize Sophia was entertaining.” He stepped right past her and thrust his brutish paw towards the older man. Who clutched it. Of course. The charm offense. Another irritating thing she had noted about Alexander the Great. At the endless happy hours he’d hosted that she’d attended with Mel, and then the long, insufferable

week at his plush Hampton estate with the pre-wedding party, she’d seen this trick of his do amazing stuff. Even she had to admit, the whole schtick was pretty damn incredible. Within moments of entering a room, he had everyone in a dazzled stupor. Within seconds of meeting a person, Alex Stravoudas had made a new lifelong friend. Within days of meeting Melanie, he’d had her best bud convinced he was the guy. But there was one bright, shining spot in the midst of all this capitulation to Mr. Perfect’s charm. During the entire three months he’d tried to win Sophie over, he’d never moved an inch towards his goal. Which had really, really irritated him. She was glad, proud even. This man didn’t deserve her respect and he certainly hadn’t deserved Mel’s hand in marriage. He didn’t have a heart. She was sure of it. Which is why she felt not a spot of guilt at what she’d done. She didn’t care that he’d had some problems with business during the last month. He deserved it. He was nothing but a heartless con artist. The con artist smiled at Jorge. “Call me Alex.” The old man mumbled something indistinct, yet his whole body language spoke of waning anger and bluster. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. Exactly as she would have if Tamika or Megan were hanging around, panting and preening at the man, Sophie was going to have to be the one to throw the intruder out. “I want you to leave.”

He turned, his smile still in place. But there was something frozen in those blue eyes of his. He didn’t like her any more than she liked him. Which begged the question as to why the heck he was here. She suppressed the whisper of curiosity. “Ah, Sophia,” he said, as if the existence of Jorge had put her entirely from his mind. He’d done this before, after he’d understood she couldn’t be won over. Subtly putting her down. Diminishing her. A lick of temper flared deep inside. “Yes, Sophie.” She tightened her fingers on her arms. “The owner of this place.” “Not really.” He paced across the room to the dinky office and glanced in. As if he were the owner. She didn’t have an Irish temper. Not like her mom. Still, something close to a volcano blasted from her gut, heating her face and burning her brain. “What the hell are you doing?” Jorge shuffled beside the table laden with boxes. “Do you want me to throw him out?” The charmer swung around and chuckled. “There’s no need for that. Sophia and I are old friends.” She snorted. Eyed the two men. Thought about her options. Jorge was big. But old. Stravoudas was bigger. And young. The cookies needed to be delivered.

The glint in the con artist’s eyes told her he wasn’t going easily into the night. Finally, her curiosity got the best of her. “Jorge. Get going. The kids are waiting.” “You sure?” The old man swung his gaze from the smiling man to the frowning Sophie. “I’m sure.” With a snort, he grabbed the dozen boxes, hefted them into his burly arms, and left. The door thunked behind him. Silence followed. A strange sort of hushed silence one only felt right before a thunderstorm was about to roll across the city with ferocious glee. “Well?” She shot the word at him, trying to jerk out of the welling anxiety suddenly swimming in her stomach. He no longer smiled. In fact, the fake smile had fallen off his handsome face the moment Jorge had turned away from him and left. “Weeeellll…” His drawl mocked her. Flashed the wisp of anxiety right out of her, replacing it with…irritation. Typical. “Weeeelllll…” She mocked him back. “What do you want?” “What do I want?” He lazed against the stone wall by the office. “An excellent question.” “Stop playing—” “You always get straight to the point, don’t you, Sophia?” “Sophie.” “Always succinct. Pithy.” He folded his arms in front of him. “A person could even say acerbic, bitter.”

The words hurt. Which was incredibly stupid. What did it matter what this man thought of her? “Is this why you came around? To insult me?” He ignored her. “It always amazes me that such a bitter woman works with sugar all day long.” Sophie stared at him. A month ago, when she’d given him back the bling and told him in no uncertain terms that Mel was lost to him, she’d expected this kind of attack. Some anger or lashing out. But he’d smiled instead. A cold smile, true, yet a smile nevertheless. Then, he’d thanked her for the ring and graciously escorted her from his office. His perfect manners had made her want to hit him, which wouldn’t have done any good. At six-foot-four, he would have flicked off her puny five-foot-two attack like a flea. So, instead, she’d used her words to hit at him. She’d been snide and snippy, still, the only thing he’d done was smile some more. She’d been quite out of sorts by the time she’d left his office. But at least she’d had the satisfaction of breaking apart the Perfect Couple for good. Why this? Why now? Had he stewed on her words for a month and lost his perfect control? The thought made her smile. “Perhaps there’s some sugar in you, after all.” Her temper flared at his condescension. “Say whatever you have to say and leave.” The gold ring on his pinky finger flashed in the overhead lights. The ring only highlighted the rough, rugged hand. The hand that whitened as he fisted it. “Okay, Sophia. I won’t pretty it up for you.”

“Good.” The whisper of anxiety floated into her stomach once more. “I’ve decided since you’ve created the problems in my life, you should be the one to fix them.” His arrogance flooded the room and swamped her anxiety, drowning it into silence. “Me?” Disdain dripped from her one word. “You.” His cold blue gaze never wavered from her face. “I’m sorry if you have problems—” “No, you’re not.” His chuckle rasped along her nerves. “You’re not sorry at all.” “Okay, I’m not,” she admitted, lifting her hands in the air with a wave of dismissal. “Your problems mean nothing to me.” “I have to disagree.” He moved from the wall, walking across to the tall ovens flanking one side of the room. His long, lean legs crossed the big room in only a few steps. He stared into one of the dark caverns as if he were taking some kind of inventory. Anxiety whispered back, winding around the anger inside her. “Would you spit out —” “I own this building.” His words slammed her mouth shut. He glanced over his shoulder, and this time, his eyes were alive and hot with pleasure. “I’m your landlord.” “Why didn’t you ever mention this before?” She clung to her composure. What did it matter if he owned this place? She had a lease. A rock-solid lease. Plus, she was an excellent tenant.

“The information didn’t seem pertinent.” Broad male shoulders shrugged. “At the time.” Ice settled in her gut. She didn’t know what was coming, but it was going to be bad. Her Irish sense of doom sagged down on her like a thick, stifling blanket, freezing the ice into a solid block of stone inside her. “Now, though…” He turned away from her again, the long, blond curls of his hair tightly tied in his usual ponytail, swished on the gray silk of his suit. “Now what?” She just wanted it out. Whatever it was. “So impatient. So demanding.” His words were a mere murmur, as if he spoke them only to himself. As if he didn’t mean them as a put-down. As if she couldn’t hear the contempt in his voice. “So unfeminine.” Sophie jerked herself straight. Okay, she wasn’t the kind of female he liked. That had been clear from the moment they’d met. She didn’t coo over him or smile at his every joke. She didn’t slather praise on his every accomplishment or bow down before his wealth. She loved Mel, but she’d been disgusted by her friend’s fawning love for this man. She’d thought of it as some sort of crazy sickness. She’d even told Mel that when she’d finally convinced her friend this man was all wrong. Still, merely because she wasn’t a female he appreciated didn’t mean she wasn’t feminine. “Leave.” The chuckle came once more, filled with a harsh confidence. “I’ll remind you once more, I’m your landlord.”

“That fact doesn’t give you the right to march in here and throw insults at me.” “Insults? Am I insulting you, Sophia? For once, are my words penetrating that thick hide of yours?” He swiveled from his perusal of her ovens and spiked her with his heated eyes. Leaning his tall body on the steel frame, he managed to appear as if he owned the place. Which he did. Damn it. They stared at each other across the cool, brightly lit room. The silence reeked of threat. A threat she hadn’t been willing to acknowledge until now. Yet it blazed from him; his negligent pose only emphasizing what was in his eyes. “I’m going to take you in hand.” His soft words floated across the steel table to settle in her churning gut. “I’m going to teach you a lesson.” His egotism blasted the fear out of her in one short second. She laughed. It felt good to laugh at this man and his asinine arrogance. It felt good to crush her stupid fears with amusement. But then she looked back at him. And the fears came rumbling back. She didn’t know why. He hadn’t moved. His eyes were only the usual cold blue she’d become used to whenever he glanced her way. His mouth might be a touch grimmer around the edges, but nothing she hadn’t seen before. Yet something about the way he watched her, the way he held himself, very still and silent—something told her she was in trouble. Something told her this man meant what he said. Anyone knowing anything about Alexander Stravoudas knew his reputation.

Alexander the Great got whatever he wanted. Even before he’d dated her best friend, she’d noted his rise in the business world. Prediction after shining prediction in the financial news came true—seemingly without Alexander the Great breaking a sweat. She had to admit she’d been a bit in awe of this man’s ability to build a worldwide architectural business worth billions in only a few short years. He’d earned the label of the Perfect Man way before he’d become a part of the Perfect Couple. Once she’d come into his orbit, she’d understood why. Time and time again, she’d observe him as he zeroed in on an investor, a politician, a potential colleague, and went in for the kill. Amazingly, none of these supposedly intelligent people ever spotted the calculation behind the charm. Watching this charlatan hunt her best friend had been even worse. As soon as he’d set his eyes on Melanie, he’d been clear in his intentions. Mel thought it had been romantic. Soph had thought it Machiavellian. She’d detected no heart in his choice—only expedience. Alexander the Great needed a pretty, educated wife and a babymaker. Melanie fit the bill. Trusting her gut as always, Sophie had done everything she could to get Mel out of this man’s firing line. After much maneuvering, listening, and lecturing, she’d achieved complete success.

But it appeared this complete success meant she’d placed herself right in the middle of his bull’s-eye. He stared at her, his hunter eyes intent. Ready to fire straight at her. For a moment, she trembled. But then her quick mind rushed to her rescue and she breathed in a cool sweep of air. True, Alexander Stravoudas seemed to have some kind of preternatural ability to charm everyone, win every time, exert his will on all. Yet he’d never been able to win over Sophia Feuer before. Why should this time be any different? “A lesson?” She forced herself to chuckle. “I don’t think you have anything I want to learn.” How could cold blue turn to hot fire in one flash of a second? She had the sense he wanted to jump across the steel table separating them and grab her. Yet, he didn’t move a muscle. Only those eyes of his blasted her with his fury. The Perfect Man was clearly in a perfect rage. At her. Sophie couldn’t understand why. Okay, she’d busted his engagement, but the man swam in a sea of willing women. All right, she hadn’t fallen for his charm like every other person, but so what? It wasn’t as if he needed everyone to love him. Fine, she’d been a bit over-the-top when she’d given him back the bling. Still, a man like this, with enough pride and arrogance for the entire city of New York, would surely have simply shrugged it off.

Surely. Not. Because why else would he be here? Glaring at her. Throwing insults. Implying threats. A shiver ran through her and he must have sensed it because he smiled. The smile he only seemed to give her. The smile that never reached his eyes and made her blood freeze. “I’ve decided—” “You’ve decided.” She managed a snort of disgust. “Yes, I have.” The words were silky steel. “I’ve decided you are going to be my new fiancée.” The words boomed in her head, entering her brain to buzz like a swarm of locusts. She stared at him with not one thought clear enough to verbalize. “Hmm.” He kept his pose, kept his gaze on her. “I can’t remember a time I’ve been able to shock you into silence.” That was quite a ridiculous statement. Yes, she’d been labeled a chatterbox a time or two, and true, she’d asked him a lot of questions when they’d first met. Yet after a while, she’d spent most of her time when in his company observing him, analyzing, figuring out what was all wrong about him. He’d also appeared to be much more comfortable when her mouth was shut then when it was open. Consequently, she’d obliged him. Until their last meeting. The buzz in her head settled into a low burr. Finally, some words popped in her mind. “Are you crazy?”

It was his turn to chuckle. “No.” “We—” “Detest each other?” “Yes.” His eyes were alive now with an odd kind of delight. Which made no sense. This scene was as un-delightful as a person could imagine. The whole situation bordered on the surreal. Sophie wondered if she’d fallen down a strange sort of black hole to arrive in another world. A world where a man proposed to a woman he detested and appeared as delighted about it as a man in love. What the hell? “What the hell?” He smiled at her barked words. “There’s no need to swear.” What a condescending jerk. His tone made her want to grab her biggest spoon and whack him on his head. “I can swear as much as I want and whenever I want.” “Don’t be childish.” Did he tut? Did he actually tut at her? “I’m done with this conversation.” Wrenching around, she headed for her office. “You can let yourself out.” “I have found a missing clause in your lease.”


Chapter Two

Alex watched in grim amusement as she turned to stare at him. He had to give her credit. Not by one bat of an eyelash did she show any sense of feeling threatened. But that would change. Very soon. She straightened. To her full height of…nothing. It had amused him when he first met her. The way she marched into every room as if she were an Amazon, instead of a small, inconsequential woman. “What clause?” she said in a calm, reasonable voice. They might have been discussing the weather or the Yankees’ inevitable win over the Mets. She did it to provoke him. As always. He understood that. What this woman didn’t understand, though, was there was now danger in poking him over and over again as she had from the moment she’d met him. He wasn’t engaged to her best friend any longer. He wasn’t interested in winning Sophia over anymore. He was interested in making her pay.

The rage he’d fed inside himself during this last month roared at him. Yelled at him. He didn’t want to merely take this woman in hand; he wanted to shake her. Hard. “A clause concerning your zoning.” She closed her eyes. And opened them. Something everyone did a thousand times a day. Then why did he notice the slight movement? Notice she wore no mascara and yet her lashes were long and dark. Why did he suddenly notice how those lashes contrasted dramatically with her very white skin? He shook himself. This was not the time to fall into one of what his partner, Henry, laughingly called his artistic trances. He had a lesson he needed to teach this woman. “Your permit to bake is dependent on the zoning.” “Correct.” She swept a hand across her cheek, pushing a strand of dark hair back behind her ear. The bright lights above made her hair appear almost black, yet his artist’s eye had noticed the red highlights the first moment he’d met her. Natural, he’d bet at the time. “I had my lawyer check into this before I signed the contract.” Her words yanked him out of staring at her hair. Henry would be laughing at him if he were here. “Not deep enough.” For the thousandth time in their acquaintance, Sophia Feuer gave him a look of annoyance. “Plenty deep. The zoning here hasn’t changed in twenty-eight years.” “Anything can change.” He straightened from the wall and paced to the edge of the steel table, coming within two feet of his soon-to-be fiancée. “Quite quickly, too. But you know that, don’t you?”

She caught his meaning, he could tell by the defensive tilt of her chin. She understood his unspoken acknowledgment of how swiftly his perfect engagement to the perfect woman for him had been destroyed. Quick. Sharp. Keen. That was Sophia. Much to his regret, he hadn’t realized these skills were being used to undermine him. Not before it was too late. Too late to stop her from destroying something he’d badly wanted. A gorgeous, gentle wife and a big, happy family. The moment he’d spotted Melanie Hamell, he’d known she was the one. Tall and blonde and beautiful, she’d fit into his life like a perfect glass of champagne. She got along with his friends. She impressed potential clients. His mother and sisters loved her. Well, except for Ceci. But his youngest sister was only a baby at twenty-one. A sister in name, still, in reality more like a daughter. Thus, it wasn’t surprising she objected to a new, permanent woman in his life. Ceci had been extremely happy a month ago when the breakup had happened. His mother, other sisters, friends, and clients not so much. Henry had said it best. “This screws everything up.” He’d have stated it a bit differently. Sophia Feuer screwed it all up.

“When change comes, it’s usually for a specific reason.” Sophia’s smile beamed a fiery laser of explosives across his fury. “A very good reason.” The confidence in her voice, the same confident tone she’d used when she’d slapped Melanie’s engagement ring into his hand and told him it was over, sent a blast of anger through his chest. The surge was so hot, he swore he smelled smoke. She didn’t regret one single thing she’d done to spoil the relationship between Melanie and him. Apparently, she hadn’t given herself one second to doubt. He could not remember a time when he’d been angrier. “You’re right, as always.” Her smile faded as if she understood his sarcasm hid ugly intent. One of her hands, with clipped nails bare of any feminine polish, smoothed down the front of her long, white apron. “My lawyer assured me the likelihood of a zoning change was zero.” “That was a mistake.” He leaned forward, the steel edge of the table pressing into his thighs. “A mistake I noticed as soon as I scanned the rest of the contract.” “Really?” Her stubby little fingers flew to her throat, yet her gaze never dropped from the challenge of his. “Your lawyer neglected to add a clause that protected you if the zoning changed.” “Oh?” Her tone held steady. “If the zoning changes, you won’t be able to bake anymore.” He gave her a pitying look. “But you’ll still have to pay the rent.” “It’s a good thing the zoning hasn’t changed for years and years then. I have nothing to worry about.” Her voice stayed confident, except he noticed her hands. Her tiny, plump hands were now clutched in front of her.

Her hands reminded him of another pair of hands—not because they were similar, but because they were entirely different. Melanie’s hands had been graceful, long and slim, artistic. He’d always remember slipping his grandmother’s ring on her finger, enjoying the gleam of the diamonds reflecting on the perfection of her skin. The rage roared, burning in his throat. “I have a friend on the zoning board.” “Do you?” Her words were cool, yet he didn’t miss the quick flash of concern in her eyes. “That doesn’t surprise me. You have friends everywhere, don’t you, Alexander?” She elongated the vowels in his name. To annoy him, he knew. She’d started doing it in retaliation because she didn’t like him calling her Sophia. Sophia was a beautiful name, he’d told her when they’d first met. I’m always going to call you Sophia, he’d said. The woman had glared at him as if he’d insulted her. He never insulted a woman. He’d never had to. Until this one. “Yes.” He smiled. He knew she hated his smile, so he smiled. “And my friends tend to do me favors when I ask for them.” “Really?” Her hand came up again to brush the disobedient lock back, leaving a streak of white frosting on her white skin. “What favor did you ask for?” “Weeellll…” He propped his hip on the table and crossed his arms, letting his taunt settle in before continuing. “I haven’t asked for one yet.” She stared at him, her bee-stung lips firming. He’d thought at first her mouth could be quite attractive if she’d put some lipstick on. But Melanie had assured him Sophie was

a natural kind of girl, that she didn’t have time for makeup except for when she went on her TV show. He’d been glad nothing drew his attention to her mouth as soon as she opened it and started her constant poking and prodding at everything he did and everything he said. Ignoring Sophia had become something of a continuing discipline for him during the course of this past summer as he courted her best friend. He’d ignored her jabs at the weekly happy hour he held for his work associates and friends. He’d ignored how everyone else seemed to think she was adorable. And he’d ignored how she examined him like he was some specimen under a microscope she’d very much like to dissect. He ignored everything about her until it was too late. Much to his ultimate regret. “Have you begun to view mobster movies in your abundant spare time, Alexander?” She crossed her arms, mimicking his action, waiting for her sly dig to hit its mark before she continued. “You’re doing a great imitation of a thug.” A thug. A thug. No person on earth who knew him would use this kind of word to describe him. “Watch what you call your new fiancé, my love.” He broadened his fake smile. She made an unfeminine sound of disbelief. “In your dreams.” “Hardly.” He let his smile drop. “Still, it will be my reality for the next few months.” Turning around, she marched toward her office. “I’ve wasted enough time with you. Goodbye.”

“Sophia.” Something in his voice stopped her. Good. At least he didn’t have to deal with a woman who didn’t know what was in her best interests. There was something to be said for dealing with a sharp cookie. She jerked back to scowl at him. “I’m done playing games.” “No games.” Dropping his arms, he strolled around the table to stand right in front of her. “You’re going to be my fiancée for the foreseeable future.” She made the same ugly sound in her throat. A grunt. Not ladylike at all. But she’d learn under his tutelage. She’d learn. “I’ll spell it out.” He lifted a finger. “One. You’re moving in with me as my new fiancée.” “Not on the last day of my life,” she spat at him. “Or any day before that.” Another of his fingers rose. “Two. In a couple of weeks, you’re going to attend my wedding ball at my side. The ball my mother and sisters worked hard to organize.” “Good God.” Her face lost all color. “You cannot be serious.” “No, no.” A startled laugh escaped him. The thought of living with this woman’s stinging tongue for the rest of his life made him shudder. “You misunderstand me. The last thing I want to do is get married to you.” “You haven’t gotten rid of all your brains yet.” She stared at him, her dark eyes blistering with revulsion. “I’m still not doing anything with you, though.”

“You’ll attend as my fiancée. We’ll call it an engagement party instead.” He pushed away the thought of what his family was going to think of Sophia after they’d known Melanie. One problem at a time. “My mother worked hard on this party and she’ll be relieved when all of the arrangements won’t go to waste.” “Not a chance.” A third finger rose. “Finally, you’re going to be my loving fiancée, right by my side, as Henry and I travel to Paris to sign a deal to build the tallest building in Zhani. You’ll be cordial to the emir and his wife. We’ll entertain them.” “Until they sign on the dotted line.” Sarcasm lined her tone. “Correct.” He dropped his hand, the three fingers curling into his hot palm. “Once that’s been completed, you’ll come back with me to New York and stand by my side as we execute the IPO.” “Wait.” A frown furrowed her brow. “I remember Melanie said something about meeting someone on your honeymoon.” “Yes.” His gaze was snagged when her nose crinkled in apparent disgust. For a moment, he was distracted by the smatter of freckles ruining the cream of her skin. Then she opened her mouth and did her usual reliable job of focusing his anger. “You were going to use your honeymoon to make a business deal?” Outrage laced every word. She made it sound as if he’d planned on taking her best friend to Siberia to negotiate with terrorists. “Paris. City of Lights. Romantic.” “But…but…but…”

“A few short meetings wouldn’t have ruined the honeymoon.” “I can’t believe you.” She gaped at him in horror. A stray strand of guilt whispered inside him. Melanie had seemed a bit… disconcerted when he’d told her of the meetings with the emir. Then memory crushed the whisper. “Let’s be clear—” he used his height to loom over her short figure “—on who ruined my honeymoon.” “Wait.” The termagant frowned, her quick mind connecting dots that weren’t even there. “I remember. Melanie said something about this sheik guy being old-fashioned. He likes to work with people who are married.” “That has nothing—” “Jorge read something in the newspaper the other day.” He could practically see the dots popping in her head, forming in a line to declare him a bastard. “I’m not following you,” he snarled. As if anyone could. “The whole thing all makes sense now.” She folded her arms around her, small pudgy fingers tightening on her skin as if she were holding herself back from hitting him. “What are you talking about?” Not that he wanted to know what Jorge had read, but rather he wondered when this conversation had strayed from his initial intent. Still, this always happened with Sophia. She never stuck to his script. A script everyone else always happily endorsed. “The IPO.” Her head rose to stare at him with those eyes. Those dark eyes that never failed to look at him as if it were all his fault. “The public offering. If you didn’t get the contract from this emir guy, then your precious IPO might be a bust.”

As usual, she put the pieces of his life together in exactly the wrong way and in the process, jumped to all the wrong conclusions. “Do you believe everything that is printed?” “Good grief.” The tiny fingers fluttered on her plump arms. “I was entirely right about you.” “Sophia.” He took one more step forward, close enough to catch a whiff of vanilla. The contrast between the sweet, welcoming smell and this acerbic, tart-tongued woman could not have been greater. “You know nothing about me.” “No?” Her brown eyes shot up to meet his, the disgust in them making the color turn dull. “That’s why you wanted to marry Melanie so quickly.” Indignation at this conclusion mingled with the anger he’d held onto for one long month. “I was not marrying Melanie—” “Ha!” She went to her tiptoes to get in his face. “You are a slimy, nasty man.” He’d expected his height to intimidate her, but instead he found himself fighting an impulse to retreat. Retreat from her warm, comforting smell and heated eyes filled with accusation. “I planned on marrying Melanie because she was the perfect—” “Don’t try to sell me your crap.” Her eyes flashed with righteous anger. Again, she’d drawn her conclusions and was running full steam ahead, ready to mow him down. “Leave before I squash you like a bug.” The thought of this pipsqueak doing any kind of squashing at all should have made him laugh. In any other case, with any other person, he would have. Eventually, they would have joined in. As always, charmed out of their anger.

But he didn’t feel like laughing. He felt like shouting. Yelling. Taking her in his big hand and squishing her. “There will be no squashing.” He gave her his smile as a present. A poison present. “And no more yelling.” His completely calm reaction, exactly as it had a month ago, made the woman even more spiteful. “You are a miserable human being.” “Who is going to be your fiancé for several months.” His smile held. “No.” Sighing, he turned and walked back to the steel table. The dusting of flour mixed with sugar gave the table a glistening sheen. Once more, it astounded him this woman baked sweets. How ironic. With his back to her, he slipped his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out the antique silver box his grandmother had given him when he’d turned eighteen. He placed it right in the middle of a small mound of sugar. Then turned to meet her glare. “You know where I live, don’t you?” He propped himself on the table, his hands gripping the edge. “Of course you do. You dropped Melanie off a time or two.” “What does that have to do with anything?” “I’ll give you until tomorrow night.” “Give me?” Her round face went rigid with rejection.

“I’ll expect you at my apartment when I get home from work.” He ignored her gasp of umbrage and strolled to the door. There wasn’t much more to say. Sophia was nothing if not smart, and after she got over her fit and called her lawyer, she’d figure it out. She was stuck being his fiancée. For as long as he demanded. “I’ll send out a press release on our engagement so the news will hit the papers the morning after you move in.” He opened the door and the cold October wind whipped into the room. He glanced back to see she hadn’t moved. “That will give you time to alert Melanie.” “You know what?” Her short, stout body tightened with frustration, and her stubby little hands fisted at her side. “I’m going to tell Melanie—” “You will tell Melanie—” he stopped in the doorway and turned “—we are in love.” That same undignified sound erupted from her throat. “You will tell everyone we’re in love.” “You are a rotten human being.” “And Sophia…” He let his gaze roll over her in clear male dismissal, something he’d never done and would never do to another woman. “Even when I decide to dispose of you—” “You are beyond despicable.” Her arms wrapped around her pudgy body in an attempt to protect herself from his inspection, yet her eyes shot fiery darts of rebellion. “You’re never going to let on about our deal.” “I don’t do deals with rotten, despicable men.”

He didn’t care what she thought of him. What he did care about was that she was put properly into her place. The place he wanted her to be. “One. Two. Three. Three promises I expect you to keep.” She glanced at the long fingers he held up and grimaced as if there was something disgusting about his hand. More likely it was his demands, but he didn’t care. “Wear the ring, Sophia.” He gestured to the shiny silver box sitting on the shiny silver table. “All the time.”


Chapter Three

Sophie stared at her three friends, buddies since college. Jade was laughing, the beads in her cornrows sparkling in the overhead light. Samantha grinned back at her, the soft suede of her usual fashionista dress falling off one shoulder. Melanie, perched on one of the cushioned chairs surrounding their table, scrolled through her texts. All of them, of course, had responded to her MUST meet request. No one missed a MUST meeting unless they were dead. This particular MUST meet invitation had been issued by text at three a.m. this morning. A long conversation with her lawyer had been followed by a long glare out her apartment window before she’d plopped into bed to stew over her options. Sure, she could go to the tabloids, her lawyer had said, and make Mr. Stravoudas even angrier. And yes, certainly, she could try and reach the emir herself, but the likelihood of reaching him was slim and his believing her story even slimmer. Possibly she could win an outright battle in front of the zoning board, yet why take the chance?

After rolling around, sleepless for hours, she’d finally capitulated to the obvious. The manipulative, slimy, horrible, pompous, arrogant, sneaky jackass was going to get his way. She had no choice. Thus the three a.m. text. Which, of course, had set off a series of reply texting that had gone on most of the day until they’d all arrived here at the bar a few minutes ago. No, she wasn’t in the hospital. No, no one had died. No, she just needed to meet. To tell them that— “Here you are, ladies.” The tall, lanky waiter swung a tray filled with tall, ornate glasses in front of him. “Four buttercups. Your usual.” “Yum,” Sam hummed. “Precisely what I need after a long day fighting off the rest of the traders.” Jade grinned as she took her first sip, leaving red lipstick in her wake. “Okay, Soph.” Melanie set her slim cell phone down by the frosted candle sitting in the middle of the gleaming rosewood table they’d managed to snag at their favorite hangout, Ghee. The basement bar was dark and snug, paneled wood delicately painted with tree trunks lined the walls, making a girl feel like she’d wandered into a magic forest. “What’s going on?” “Whatever it is, it has to be something huuuuge.” Sam’s blonde brows drew in. “When was the last time she called a MUST meet?” “Eons.” Mel’s gaze never wavered from Sophie’s face.

“Eons for you, maybe.” Jade waved her hand, brilliant red fingernails flashing. “Admit it, Mel. You’ve called more MUST meetings in the last year than—” “I had a lot going on.” The blonde beauty smiled as if it had been a dance in the park. Samantha chuckled. “All of it cleaned up very efficiently by Sophie.” “That’s what she does best for her friends.” “I’m not the clean-up crew.” Her three friends looked at her and then laughed. “Do you remember when our little friend ran off my Derek?” Jade snorted. “He was, what?” Mel tapped a finger on her elegant chin. “Six-foot-five?” “He was a professional basketball player.” Jade eyed a chip on her fingernail. “Try over seven feet.” “He was a jerk.” “Yes, yes, Soph.” Her friend turned and gave her a blinding smile. “He was and you made me realize that.” “You’re my friend.” She’d do anything for any of them. Including running off myriad asshats. Her dad claimed she’d inherited her mother’s Irish radar. The radar that buzzed every time a jerk entered its vicinity. “Thank God I found Antony.” Jade signaled the waiter for another round. “Antony is perfect for you.” “Yes.” Her friend laughed. “You said that the first moment you met him, Soph.”

“I remember the last time.” Sam broke into the conversation, her crisp, piping voice cutting through the noisy crowd surrounding them. “When she split with that guy about a year and a half ago, Soph called a MUST meet. What was his name?” “Chad.” Her hand curled into a fist and the movement made her remember what she had been forced to put on her finger and what she’d been hiding under the table since she’d gotten here. “His name was Chad.” “Yeah, yeah.” Jade made a face. “The guy who complained about your bedtimes. As if you could dance all night and then bake early in the morning. The loser.” “He wasn’t a loser.” “He was a loser for you.” Melanie swung her long, curly hair over one shoulder as if whisking every one of Sophie’s previous loser boyfriends away. “He was a great guy, but for someone else. You need someone stronger.” Her three girlfriends nodded in concert. As if this was some new news flying through their conversation. It wasn’t. She hadn’t agreed the first time it was said and she didn’t agree now. The men she chose to date were the men she liked. Quiet, thoughtful men. Men who listened to her opinions. Men who didn’t get in her way. The ring around her finger seemed to tighten on her skin like a knot of weeds cutting into her circulation. “At this point, girlfriends,” Jade pursed her lips in mock distress, “I’d be happy to see Miss S with any man at all.”

“I’m busy.” “You’ve always been busy,” her friend retorted. “I have never known you not to be busy.” “I’m super busy.” She pressed her other hand on her finger, trying to relieve the tight pressure. She was busy, yes, and soon she was going to be even busier. Wouldn’t you know Mr. Suave-and-Smug would pick the busiest time of her year to demand his due. “All work and no play make for a very unhappy girl,” Sam chimed in. “Even if I have one hundred book proposals to go through at the end of the day, I always find the time to be with my guy.” Her guy being Tom, the nicest, sweetest, most patient man on earth. Who didn’t mind that Sam’s job as a junior editor meant he often climbed into bed with her—and her books. They’d met at a bookstore. Since Sam spent a lot of her spare time at bookstores, this came as no surprise. Perhaps she should hang out at bookstores more often. Maybe she might find a nice, amiable guy who wouldn’t mind that she had to go to bed at nine p.m. every night and had to rise before the crack of dawn. She should look into bookstores as soon as she had some spare time. The tip of her ring finger began to throb as if something was stopping the blood from arriving. “I did try to arrange a date for Sophie with Alex’s best friend,” Mel said. Her voice didn’t hitch over his name and the realization gave Soph a moment of happiness. She’d

done the right thing. However, was Mel going to continue to agree with that after she spilled her ugly news? “But Sophie thought he was a workaholic.” Jade’s white teeth flashed. “Sophie is a workaholic.” “I am not.” Well, kinda, for now. Still, her business was just taking off. So she had to be. “What was his name?” Sam slid her finger along her glass, her gaze focused. “Henry.” “Right, Henry,” Mel confirmed. This was all decidedly horrible. Every one of her friends had been drawn into Alexander the Great’s orbit. He’d invited them to his city-famous happy hours. Introducing them to his staff, he’d managed to fashion a little tribe of devotees to the Perfect Couple. Even Antony and Tom, after being wined and dined at his Hampton estate this August, had announced Mr. Suave-and-Slick was a fantastic guy. It was as if he’d spun a web of lies and deceit and slinky charm around her life. Just by itself, having to play his stupid game, would have been bad enough. But having to play his pawn in front of every one of her best friends made her heart burn. Come to think of it… Her middle knuckle on her fourth finger burned as if it were blistering. She was absolutely positive it had swollen to the size of a donut. She didn’t dare glance down, though. The movement might draw her friends’ attention to what she definitely didn’t want to show them. Maybe she was allergic to his ring.

Maybe she’d have to take it off and keep it off for good. Maybe she’d have to get a doctor to sign off on this strange allergic reaction so Mr. Suave-and-Snotty couldn’t object. Maybe— “S?” Melanie leaned over and put a long-fingered, gentle hand on her arm. “Are you okay?” Immediately, her other two friends frowned in concern. “Sophie!” Sam cried. “You look as white as death.” “Here we’ve been rattling on,” Jade crossed her arms in self-disgust, “and our poor Soph is obviously in distress.” What their poor Soph was in was a tub of hot water that was getting hotter and hotter, and she couldn’t jump out. She was going to have to do this and somehow make them believe— Her hand shot out from underneath the table, the ring blazing its presence on what appeared like her completely normal finger. Her hand slammed down in the middle of the table making the warm, bright candle wobble and the tall, ornate glasses shiver. A hush fell over them, filled only by the chatter of the groups scattered around the busy bar and the low jazz music wailing in the background. “That looks familiar.” There was a cool clip to Melanie’s voice. “Very familiar.” “Yes, I would agree.” All three heads glanced back at Sophie’s face in disbelief.

“I’m engaged.” “I can see that.” Melanie tipped her head back down to the ring. “To—” “Alexander.” “Would that be Alexander Stravoudas?” Sam frowned. “Correct.” Before they noticed her hand was now shaking, Sophie stuffed it beneath the table again. “The Alexander Stravoudas our other girlfriend was engaged to less than six weeks ago?” Jade arched a black brow. “Yes.” She was never going to pull this off. She wasn’t a liar like he was. She couldn’t manufacture emotion to get ahead or get her way. This was awful. Horrible. Stunned silence fell over the table one more time. Perhaps she’d get lucky and explode into a million bits and disappear in a cloud of smoke because she truly couldn’t think of one single thing to say. Tiny, blasts of thought zipped around in her brain. She’d lose every one of her friends. She’d end up all alone. She’d never earn their respect again. He’d done this to her. The toxic, tyrannical toad. Now not only her finger burned. Her entire body boiled in a mix of anger, misery, and fear. Then, then Mel laughed.

Mel was all that was gracious and elegant. She was beautiful and lovely and never had a hair out of place. To Sophie, she was the epitome of what a lady should be. Except for her laugh. To be kind, it was rather horsy. And loud. And not ladylike in the slightest. “Oh, man,” Sam murmured. “Oh, Lord,” Jade muttered. “Oh, crud.” Sophie put her forehead on the table. “Mel’s gone crazy with anger.” Another peal of laughter rolled around the bar. “She looks pretty happy to me,” Sam said. “This is not an upset Mel I see here,” Jade contributed. “She’ll never forgive me.” She closed her eyes and dreamed she’d walked away into the magic forest surrounding them, never to be seen again. “I’m not crazy.” Melanie’s hand came down on Sophie’s head. “I’m also not mad at you.” “You should be.” “No.” The long-fingered hand smoothed through her ponytail. “You didn’t like Alex at all when you convinced me he was wrong for me.” “But—” “And you were right.” The hand brushed along her shoulder. “Alex was a rebound. Jack’s the right guy.” “But—”

“I know I’ve said it before,” her friend continued past her objection. “Yet it bears repeating. I really appreciate it that you took care of breaking it off with Alex. He’s too charming when he gets determined and I might have fallen for his pitch.” “Our Sophie was well aware of that.” Jade gave her a wry smile. “Which is why she volunteered to do the dirty deed.” Sam chuckled. “Our tiny friend can be fierce when she needs to be.” While their compliments warmed her, she still hadn’t stated what needed to be said. “But—” “Anyway, knowing my friend as I do, I have to assume something magic happened in the last month.” Mel sighed, a bittersweet sound. “And, well, Alex can be magic.” At that absurd statement, Sophie popped her head up. “He’s not magic in any way,” she blurted. “He’s the most—” “This is amazing.” Jade jumped to her feet and danced around her chair, her stilettos clicking on the hardwood floor. “This is fantastic.” Sam hooted and lifted her glass in a cheer. Melanie’s blue eyes were soft. “I’m happy for you, Soph. I never thought of you two together, but now that I do, it’s perfect.” “Yep. You got that right.” Jade bent forward, her black eyes sparkling. “Alex Stravoudas is the absolutely, positively perfect man for you.” Oh. God. She suddenly wished they’d all been pissed at her instead of this. This reaction made her seethe. “I don’t think—”

“He isn’t going to take any guff from you.” Her friend tapped a long red fingernail on her nose, making her want to scratch it. “He’s not going to roll over like the rest of your losers. He’s bold and strong, exactly like you.” “They weren’t los—” “This is like a romantic fairy tale,” Sam cooed, her eyes dreamy. “I think it’s enchanting.” “Sophie.” Mel’s mouth compressed and she lurched over to wrap her long arms around her. “Don’t look like that. We’re very happy for you. It’s going to be wonderful.” No. It wasn’t. It was going to be awful. Horrible. And it was all because of him.


Chapter Four

He lived in the penthouse. Of course, he did. Sophie dragged her one suitcase from the silver-plated spaceship of an elevator and into a large, square foyer carpeted in white. The walls were painted in a chilly, bleached alabaster that hurt her eyes. All of this non-color served to draw a person’s gaze to the door. The one door. She walked over to it. The thing was black. Very black. Some kind of exotic wood he’d probably had towed here from Africa or Ecuador or Mars. The doorknob and the door knocker stood out in sterling splendor, not greeting you but rather questioning whether you were meant to be here in the first place. She wasn’t meant to be here.

Sophie had never entered this hallowed ground. She’d had enough of Mr. Perfectly Horrendous as it was. Still, she’d heard enough about his place from Melanie and the girls. “The place is gorgeous,” her friend had gushed. “His penthouse is amazing,” Jade had commented. “Well,” Sam had cocked her head, her eyes narrowing, “I guess I’d say it’s dramatic.” The thought of her three friends, friends she’d left only an hour ago at Ghee, made her stomach sink. They’d been so happy for her. Happy. That she was engaged to Alex Stravoudas. Unbelievable. What were they going to say when this farce came to an end? And how was she going to keep the truth of what this really was from them for the rest of her life? Her shoulders slumped. Awful. Horrible. After enduring endless congratulatory hugs, she’d pulled herself away and gone back to her apartment. Packing the bare minimum had been a puny attempt to reinstate her independence. But no act of defiance could stop her next step. She’d taken the subway to the land of the rich and famous. The Upper East Side. Where the upper crust lived, her dad always said as he bit into one of his own bread’s crusts.

She didn’t like this neighborhood, with its soaring towers of ultra-expensive condos mixed in with courtly brownstones and Greek Revival facades. The sidewalks were constantly filled with fussy matrons, in their old-fashioned couture, walking by boxed flowers lined in a row like little soldiers. She’d always imagined a small cadre of ghosts came out every night to sweep the streets squeaky clean. The neighborhood seemed artificial to her. Not surprising he lived here, huh? It was almost eight o’clock at night. She was tired. Hungry. And oh, yeah. Angry. She slammed the knocker down. The wide door opened immediately. “Finally.” A smiling older woman dressed in a plain cotton dress appeared. “You’re here. Mr. Alex was getting worried.” I’ll expect you at my apartment when I get home from work. “I doubt it.” The woman’s face filled with shock. “Naturally he would be. Mr. Alex is always concerned about his family and friends.” His friend. Please. “Especially for you,” she continued to chatter. “You’re special to Mr. Alex, of course.” Of course. “I’m Mrs. Palmer.” The cheerful woman smiled once more, the tiny wrinkles near her eyes creasing. “I’ve been Mr. Alex’s housekeeper for years and years.”

And loved him for all that time; it was clear in the devotion coloring her voice. Like everyone else on earth. Except herself. “What am I thinking? Come in, come in.” The woman waved her hand and Sophie rolled her way into… A colossal cavern of a room. Did a person live in such a thing? “Here, let me take your coat.” A firm tug on the sleeve of her peacoat made Sophie drop her fierce grip on her suitcase. “There, you’ll be more comfortable now.” The woman hummed as she opened another black door and grabbed a steel hanger. Comfortable? In this place? Sophie didn’t think you were meant to be comfortable here. No, no. Mr. Perfectly Obnoxious wanted you to be impressed. She was not. The great room she walked into had floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides. The dark night sky twinkled with a myriad of gold and silver lights shining from the next door buildings. However, this did nothing to lighten the effect of a long string of low black sofas crouching in a sea of gray carpet. Dwarf-like white balls that must be chairs were scattered here and there, looking like they would unwind and zing a girl to the moon if given half a chance. “Why don’t you take a seat?” No, she didn’t think she would. She’d likely be swallowed whole or shot into the sky.

“Mr. Alex tells me you two have become recently engaged.” The woman beamed as if his previous engagement, that ended mere weeks ago, had never even happened. “I’m extremely happy for you both.” A stilted silence fell. Sophie suddenly realized she hadn’t said a word since the front door had opened. Even if this was not where she wanted to be, she could at least be cordial. “Um.” “Goodness.” The woman turned in a flurry and hustled from the room, her words growing muffled as she ran around the corner. “I promised to call Mr. Alex as soon as you arrived.” So he wasn’t here yet. Sophie took the opportunity to scout out enemy territory. She paced across the wide expanse of ugly carpeting to the black marble fireplace. On top of the mantel stood a series of photos and sculptures. She picked the first picture up. Then the next. She stared at the three glass figurines. And snorted. Nothing homey or family here. Evidently, this was where Mr. Perfectly Dreadful had arranged his personal altar to his accomplishments. The photos were all of him with various dignitaries and clients who had been bamboozled. She could tell by the sly smile on his face and the dazed look on the others. The steel and stone objects, every one of them pointy and ugly, were numerous awards for his architectural brilliance.

Another snort. Turning, she eyed the window-enclosed lap pool lying beyond the living room. Walking to the glass wall, she stared into the water, dull and dark in the unlit room. Yuck. She marched back past the fireplace and opened a side door. She didn’t worry about breaching any privacy. This wasn’t a home. This was a monument to his ego. The door led into a study. An imperious black desk dominated, its surface completely clear other than for an ultra-modern laptop. The commanding chair behind it was covered with some kind of ebony animal skin. The walls were lined with bookshelves filled with leather-bound books consummately aligned to the edge of each shelf. The fourth wall was, again, a floor to ceiling window looking out on darkness intermixed with the lights coming from other skyscrapers. Not a green plant or tossed book or empty coffee cup to be seen, giving any indication an actual person lived here. Immediate thoughts of where she’d just left sprang to mind. Her cozy, warm apartment with its comfy blue-checked sofa, big pots of flowers in the foyer, the tiny glass chandelier hanging over the round wooden table she’d found at an antique store. Her collection of books scattered across the old, lopsided shelves lining the fireplace, whose mantel was stuffed with a mishmash of memories. The difference between them could not be more apparent and how anyone in their right mind could think she and Mr. Perfectly—

“You’re finally here.” Sophie glanced over her shoulder, surprised he’d been able to sneak in without her hearing the clunking close of his intimidating front door. “On command.” The first of three promises fulfilled. Two more and she would never have to share space with this man again. It couldn’t happen soon enough. His wide mouth twisted in a wry tug. “You’re making yourself comfortable?” “Getting comfortable in this place would be a fruitless task.” Sighing, a weary sound as if he were dealing with a squawking child, he stuck his big, brutish hands in the pockets of his blue silk suit. The movement stretched the edges of his coat apart, revealing the gleam of pure white cotton plastered over muscle. “I was beginning to think you’d decided to be stupid.” Her teeth clicked together. “You didn’t give me much choice on the decision I made.” “Correct.” A faint smile of satisfaction crossed his face. “That was the point of the conversation.” “Well…” She tugged her old purple cardigan down past her jean-clad hips, suddenly aware of the difference between them. He, all sparkly Upper East Side. She, all grungy Lower East Side. But she didn’t care. She’d changed from her classy dress when she’d gotten back home. He wasn’t worth primping for. “I’m here. You should be happy.” A short bark of laughter was her answer and then his pointed blue gaze went down her length and back to her face. Yet it wasn’t the kind of look a man gave a woman he was interested in. Rather it was a glance assessing her worthiness.

Her temper flared but before she could take a verbal shot, he spun around and paced toward the front door. She immediately noticed her suitcase had disappeared. “Hey. Where’s my—” “Mrs. Palmer took your things to the bedroom you’ll be staying in.” His gait didn’t slow. “I can show you to it now if you’d like. I hear you’re an early-to-bed-type person.” Even though his tone held not a hint of disapproval, Sophie’s temper continued to rise. “I’m a baker. I get up at four a.m.” “Makes sense.” His voice stayed even. “Are you hungry?” Her stomach growled in response and he must have heard because he turned, his smile tight, his eyes alive. “You are. And so am I.” She didn’t like the way her looked at her. His gaze wasn’t sexual in the slightest, but it was predatory. The thought of eating with him made her stomach go quiet. “I think I’ll go to bed.” “Come on, Sophia.” Leaning on the wall right beside a modern painting filled with wild strokes of onyx and blood-red paint, his smile widened into the full blown deal that always won him a prize. “You can cook for me.” She snorted. “I didn’t promise to cook for you.” “No, that’s true.” He didn’t appear to be fazed by her rejection, his smile remaining. “Then I’ll cook for you.” His words shocked her into stilled silence. Before she could muster any response, he disappeared around the corner.

Alexander the Great cooking? A muffled clank of a pan carried across the cold sea of carpet. Sophie made a face at the nearest crouching couch and wound her way across the room to stand in another doorway she’d missed when she first came in. The kitchen was as spare and bleak as the rest of the penthouse. Two big steel refrigerators lined one wall while another wall sported more floor-to-ceiling windows. A rigid island of glass and black marble stood in the center of the huge kitchen designed not for comfort but a caterer. “You entertain a lot.” Her words shot out as an accusation. He discarded his silk jacket and tie on one of two black leather stools tucked into the edge of the island and rolled up his sleeves. Glancing at her, he wore a quizzical look. “Naturally.” “That’s what this place is all about, isn’t it?” “I’m not getting your point.” Moving to one refrigerator, he pulled out a passel of plastic bags filled with cut vegetables and meat. “Stir-fry okay?” Of course, the man could not be troubled with slicing his own food. Sophie gave him a sneer. “Does it matter?” “No.” With short, economical movements, he slid a wok onto the glass-covered stove and poured some oil into it. The scent of bacon and chicken wafted into the air and her stomach growled once more. He chuckled, a wicked, provoking sound.

Sophie’s pride demanded she march down some hallway somewhere and into her unknown bedroom, yet curiosity about this man and her hunger made her stay. She walked over to the other bar stool and plopped down. “You. Cook.” “Yes.” He pulled another pan out from one of a thousand black-paneled cabinets. “Rice or noodles?” “Gee.” Sarcasm riddled the word. “I get a choice?” “You know what?” He slammed the pot on the stove and turned to face her, his eyes burning blue with the usual animosity. “We can make these next couple of months easy. Or we can make them a pain in the ass.” “I vote for pain in the ass.” He glared at her before swiveling back to the stove. “Fine. Rice it is.” She watched as he dribbled the red peppers and broccoli into the pan, watched as the muscles of his back moved underneath the cotton, watched as his tight butt— “We can eat here.” He swung around with two black bowls filled with steaming food. Sophie dragged her gaze away, horrified at what she’d been focused on. This was Mr. Perfectly Ugly no matter how beautiful his butt— “Or we can eat in the dining room.” Staring down at the two bar stools placed very close together, she made the obvious choice. “Dining room.” Without a word, he strode out of the kitchen through a low-arched door. She shuffled behind him, horror still running through her brain at what she’d been gawking at.

Gawking. God help her. The dining room was a…surprise. Not at first, as her gaze ran over the black glass table dominating the center of the room. Twelve black leather chairs circled it as if they were on guard. A glass chandelier hung above the whole thing, but unlike her own cheery light, this one looked like a spider web, ready to catch an unsuspecting guest. Then her gaze was snagged by the lighted swirl of— “An aquarium!” Placing the bowls of food on the table, he strode to a long, low cabinet and pulled out black cloth napkins and sterling silverware. Placing them by the bowls, he moved back to the cabinet and slid two crystal wine glasses from the interior. “White or red?” “You have an aquarium.” Before she could stop herself, she rushed to the huge glass window and peered in. “The correct term would be a terrarium.” His voice reeked with the usual condescension. She made a face at the glass but couldn’t be bothered to turn around and tell him off. Her gaze was too busy taking in the details. This thing was nothing like the little square aquarium she had as a kid, where her two orange goldfish had lived, swimming in and out of plastic Greek statues and columns. This was a floor-to-ceiling splash of life and color, filled with green reeds and palms. A sparkling brook dropped into a little pond surrounded by leafy wisteria and grass. The tank wrapped around one wall of the room and half of another.

“Birds.” She stared at a gaggle of golden finches. “I’ve chosen white.” The clink of a bottle on crystal drifted across the room. “Come and eat.” Glancing down, she gaped. “There’s a turtle.” “There are actually two.” The pond burbled, moss-covered rocks circling the water. She couldn’t see into the water, yet she saw the movement of something deep below. “There are fish?” “Yes.” Right before her eyes, a little brown frog hopped out of the weeds encircling the pond and onto a rock. His bulging eyes looked right at her. “A frog.” “Sophia.” His voice was arctic. “Your food is getting cold.” *** He was getting hot. The woman had her butt high in the air as she peered down. He didn’t appreciate the old pair of jeans with the whitened patches showing wear. He didn’t like the fact that his gaze had become stuck on the rounded contour of her ass. And he specifically didn’t enjoy the realization he’d become semi-hard. Yanking his chair out, he sat. He was a leg man.

He’d always liked the long-legged beauties with their narrow hips and thin thighs. He enjoyed the way they moved, so elegantly and smoothly. He especially appreciated how they matched his height, fit into his kiss and his arms. “There are two frogs.” The irritating woman leaned over even farther, emphasizing the pert curve of each cheek, the classic form of a heart-shaped female rear. “Sophia.” She sprung around to face him. Once again, he noticed how completely wrong that purple sweater was for her coloring. The abomination leached her skin and made her appear faintly ill. Yet the sparkle in her brown eyes told him she was nothing of the sort. “I can’t believe this is here.” “Why not?” He discarded the manners his maman had trained him in. Instead of waiting for the lady to sit, he grabbed his spoon and dug into the food. “It’s…it’s…” She stumbled to a stop, her little pucker mouth puckering. “Not you.” Alex had no idea what she meant and didn’t much care. He’d put the terrarium in his design because he liked the contrast with the simplicity of the rest of the house. Nothing more, nothing less. He gestured to her bowl. “Come and eat.” The quizzical look stayed on her face as she walked to the table and sat down. Sticking her fork into his creation, she brought it to her mouth. She should be using a spoon, but he was too tired to point the fact out. Her eyes popped wide and a low hum came from her throat. “Good, huh?”

She shot him one of her annoyed glares, still, she did take another bite. He sipped the chardonnay, letting the blend of oak and butter tones roll in his mouth as his muscles relaxed. His day had been filled with long meetings going through the last of the drawings on the Khani building as well as buttoning down the investors for a new skyscraper in Shanghai. He’d taken two minutes to pull Henry aside and give him the news. “Sophie?” Henry’s voice had risen as well as his eyebrows. “That was fast.” “I thought you’d be pleased.” His shoulder muscles tensed as he noted his best friend’s dubious reaction. “This will seal the deal in Paris.” His partner stared at him, a slight frown curling his brow. “Ah, sure.” “Sophia will be with us.” He didn’t think much of her, but everyone else who met her thought she was just about perfect. “She’s agreed to come along.” “During the busiest part of her business year?” Henry had eventually acknowledged the timing was great, yet his question had lingered in Alex’s brain the rest of the afternoon. He hadn’t thought about her business when he’d concocted his scheme and he’d tried to convince himself for the last six hours that it made no difference. But it did. “You’re ready to go to Paris in three weeks?” His words came out far harsher than he’d have liked because he sensed the guilt simmering below. Her eyes lit with eagerness. “Oh, yes. I can’t wait.”

“Won’t this cut into…” He stopped before he showed his concern, but the woman clued in immediately. “Don’t worry.” She took a gulp of wine, her unpainted lips pursing, pale pink on the crystal. “I’m going to hire another assistant and I’m sure Tamika can run the show for a few days. Plus, I talked to my producer today and she’s ecstatic.” Exactly like most of the conversations he’d ever had with this woman, he felt adrift. “She’s ecstatic about your engagement?” Another annoyed glance came his way. “No, Freddie’s excited about filming in Paris.” “I don’t remember agreeing to a film crew.” “They aren’t coming along to film you.” Her tone turned acid. “We’re going to arrange a series of meetings with the best pastry chefs in Paris and film them.” “You’ll be busy.” The urge to put his foot down rose inside. This trip wasn’t supposed to be a fun time for Ms. Feuer. She was supposed to suffer. “The purpose of going to Paris is to make my endeavor a success. Not yours.” “I’m always busy so don’t get your panties in a knot. I can handle your stuff and mine.” She dismissed his concern and his hard look without blinking an eye. “I’ve dreamed of going to Paris and you aren’t going to mess around with that dream.” “You’re going there on my dime.” “True.” A sly grin slipped across her mouth. “Which makes it all the more delicious.” His usual anger towards this woman surged. Twisting his revenge into a benefit for herself shouldn’t have surprised him. Yet it did. However, before he reacted, he sipped his wine and thought. Begrudging her this wouldn’t give him much of anything. Perhaps it

would sweeten her disposition enough she wouldn’t spend her entire time using that sharp tongue on him. “I’ll require you to attend every one of the banquets the emir throws. Still, most of them will be at night.” “Require.” Her dark eyes flickered with rage. “Lovely.” He curbed a satisfied smile and put on a thoughtful look. “I suppose I can allow you the time off.” “Allow.” Predictably, her voice tightened in anger. “You are such a sweet guy.” “I am that and much more.” He finished his meal and eased back in his chair, wine glass in hand. “Which is why we’re having this pleasant dinner tonight. I know everything about you. Now it’s time you know more about me.” “You know everything about me.” Her freckled hand tightened on the fork. “Really.” “I had a thorough background check done.” He took a sip of wine, noting that she stared at the fork as if wishing for a knife. “And I know your best friend. She talked about you often.” “That must have been delightful for you.” “No, but it did provide valuable information.” Sophia gave him a deadly stare. “Okay, hotshot. Tell me all about myself.” “Not needed.” He gave her back a smile. “What’s needed is for you to know more about me.” “I know everything I need to know.” “Doubtful.” By the look in her eyes, she was going to launch into a litany of his faults. He’d had too long of a day to put up with that.

“I know that—” “Sophia. Please.” He made his voice ooze with condescension and hauteur before sipping his wine again. Then he added another touch purely to aggravate her even more. “Hush.” For a moment, he was sure her half-filled bowl of food would land on his head, but she abruptly quieted. Dipping her fork into the stir-fry, she kept her gaze down. “Go ahead. I’m all ears.” What was the imp planning? He knew this woman. She wouldn’t be submissive without a plot to stick the knife in somewhere. A strand of disappointment slunk through him as he realized she had decided to dismiss their battle for now instead of fighting on. He’d been enjoying himself. The thought unsettled him enough to stir the usual anger against this woman. “The most important thing you need to know for now is that I have four sisters.” “I know that.” She slurped her wine, and once more, his attention got snagged by her mouth. “Mel told me.” “Two older and two younger.” He loosened his tie because it felt too tight all of a sudden. “They’ll all be at the ball.” “Okie doke.” She didn’t appear fazed. His other girlfriends, even Melanie, had been a bit intimidated at all the females in his life. “They won’t like you.” “Are you sure?” Her brown eyes lit with unholy glee. “Because ouch. That would be horrible for you if your sisters and I became best buddies.”

“It’s not going to happen.” His sisters would take one look at this woman and question his sanity. “You’ll have to convince them you’ve fallen in love with me. They’ll have to be satisfied with that.” She ate the last of her stir-fry and picked up her wine. “I’m sure it will work out fine.” She’d come around so quickly and thoroughly, Alex found himself suddenly suspicious. “You’ve told your friends about this engagement, right?” “You mean Mel?” Her eyes narrowed, calling his attention to her long, dark lashes. “In one word, yes.” “And everything—” “She’s very happy she’s not your fiancée anymore.” His jaw tightened. “You didn’t tell her the real—” “No.” Slugging down the rest of the wine, a wine he’d carefully chosen when he’d last been in the south of France, she slammed the empty glass on the table. “I lied to her and all my other friends, too.” A stiff shot of guilt sparked through him, but he ignored it. Ms. Feuer had planted herself in this situation and he was merely paying her back. “I hope you did an effective job.” “Oh, yes.” Her eyes sparkled with fury. “They are amazingly happy for me.” He let the grin spread across his face and she behaved in her typical pissed-off fashion. “Why wouldn’t they be? You’ve caught an amazing prize.”

She made that ugly sound again, deep in her throat. “Which begs the question that’s been roaming around in my brain since yesterday.” “What’s that?” “Why me?” she blurted. “I mean, you must have a list of women who’d love to be your fiancée.” “Yes, that’s true.” When her tiny hands fisted on her lap, satisfaction swam through him. “Yet none of them suited.” “I don’t get it.” He wouldn’t make a promise to a woman and then break it. His conscience revolted at the thought of leading a woman on or paying her to play a part. Much better to strike a hard deal with a smart cookie. He slowly sipped the last of his wine and gently put the glass down. “Well, first. I had something to use as a prod.” “As a threat, you mean.” Ignoring her, he continued. “Second, I had a score to settle.” She made that same unfeminine sound deep in her throat. “And finally,” he rose and took the two bowls in his hands, “you fit the bill.”


Chapter Five

Sophie’s breath frosted in the air as she walked away from the subway. The streets were comparatively quiet at four-fifteen a.m., making it her favorite time of day. Usually. Walking past the few straggling remnants of the late-night drinking crowd, she snuggled into her peacoat and took stock of what this particular day was going to give her. Nothing but bad. The day had started out bad and it was going to get worse. The ring on her finger tightened along with her mouth. The ring he’d declared she needed to wear all the time, even as she baked. The ring he’d eyed over his coffee, making sure she had it on before she stormed through his ostentatious front door a half hour ago. She’d expected some peace and quiet this morning. Instead, she’d found Alexander the Great perched on one of the steel stools in his kitchen, apparently waiting for her arrival.

“I’ll drive you to work,” he’d said, his hair slicked back in the usual ponytail, his suit impeccable. She’d been a bit shocked at the almost gallant gesture, but his impossible perfection, compared to her usual messy self, trounced any feelings of charity. The gesture had to be an attempt to make her feel inadequate in the face of his brilliance. She’d nailed him by stating she’d rather start the day without seeing his face. Then he’d gotten all arrogant and snotty. She’d had to leave immediately before even drinking one cup of coffee or else she would have bopped him in the nose. That was okay. She had coffee at the bakery. Plus, she’d squashed any further attempt by Mr. Gallantly Arrogant to run her day. Hopefully, he’d take the hint and not disturb her in the morning anymore. “Wear the ring. All the time,” he’d snarled right before the door had slammed behind her. She wasn’t going to comply with that particular demand. The last thing she wanted to show her assistants was the ring. Nope. As soon as she got into her office, this horrible ring was going right into that…that… Unbelievably beautiful silver box. An antique box with the words scrolled over the top in a lovely flourish. Pour l’amour de l’amour. She didn’t know a lot of French but being a pastry chef meant she knew enough. For love’s sake.

The box didn’t fit the man and didn’t fit the ring. The ring she was sure he’d purchased to impress. Pour l’amour de l’amour. None of it fit. Including this stupid ring on her finger. She sighed into the rough edge of her coat. Having dinner alone with Alexander Stravoudas had led to another long night of thrashing around in bed without getting much sleep. At the rate she was going, hanging out with him was going to cause her to collapse with fatigue. She could blame the unfamiliar size of the king-size bed compared to her own snug double. Or she could say that lying on the slinky silk sheets had caused her to worry about sliding off the bed into a heap on the stark gray carpet. Then there had been the preternatural silence of being on top of the world when she was used to the honking horns and loud voices of her own comfortably familiar street only one level below her bedroom window. But to be truthful, none of those problems had been at the heart of her inability to sleep. The problem had been him. Walking over to concrete steps leading to her bakery, she stifled the urge to scream. This was her quiet time; her time to reflect and plan her day. This was the time when everyone else slept while she put her best ideas into practice. This wasn’t the time to be thinking about him. Mulling over his ability to cook amazingly good food wasn’t on the agenda.

Wondering about what that incredible terrarium said about who he truly was shouldn’t be buzzing in her brain. Remembering the image of his sexy butt wouldn’t help her forget about him completely for the rest of the day. And reflecting over and over again on what he’d meant by fitting the bill wouldn’t do her a spot of good. Add to everything else running around her head, she was now questioning all her assumptions about his stupid ring. Screaming wouldn’t help. Killing him would. But she hadn’t been able to figure out a plan for that. Yet. Yanking the steel door open, she slid inside, flicking the bright overhead lights on. The big room was quiet and hushed as if it waited for her arrival to come alive. Sophie suddenly smiled. And remembered. This was worth it. This bakery, this dream. Even if she had to endure another hundred nights and mornings as bad as this past one, she’d still have this when his stupid deal had been completed. She shook her coat off and hung it on the steel rack her dad had given her when she’d first moved into this building. Slipping on a clean apron, she walked into her office, determined to shake Alex Stravoudas from her mind. She clicked on her computer and the day’s list of orders flashed onto the screen, calling for her attention.

She’d begun her business a few months before graduating from the intensive sixmonth pastry and bakery program she’d signed on for right after getting her degree at Mercy College. Her tiny apartment’s little stove had pumped out hundreds of rolls and breads as she’d went on to serve a two-year apprenticeship with Jacques Boulanger at his famous shop, Korova Patisserie, in Soho. Bread, she could do. She’d grown up with it. Yet she’d always known pastry would be her calling card. Slowly, she’d built a reputation with the small, family diners and then the ritzy ones. Instead of just buying her bread, a bread as good as her dad’s, they began to order a dozen of her fruit tarts. Then her city-famous caramel and chocolate éclairs. As fast as she learned her lessons with Jacques, she twisted the recipes and made them her own, much to her clients’ and Jacques’ delight. Eventually, she’d managed to sign deals with quite a few surrounding restaurants. Then New York City’s most popular morning TV show had called. Her mom hadn’t been happy about the show. Her mom had dreamed of grandchildren. Sophie figured kids were in the future—the far future. Right now, though, pastry was her perfect present. Marching back into the main room, she turned on both mixers. She had two hours to get the brioche and scones done before Jorge came in to start the deliveries. Measuring the flour, eggs, and sugar into one spinning bowl and then the other, she began to hum. Baking settled her like nothing else could.

Every bit of him slipped from her brain. “Hey, Soph!” Tamika banged into the room, slamming the door behind her with a decisive clunk. The long white trails of her iPod earplugs hung from her ears and explained why she yelled her greeting. “Hey, yourself.” Her assistant’s dark eyes flashed with an excitement that was unusual. Tamika didn’t start all her engines until after her second cup of coffee. “What’s going on?” Sophie’s humming stopped. “What?” “There’s three guys standing outside in front of our door.” Her assistant rolled onto her toes as if about to take flight. “Paparazzi! At four in the morning!” Tamika and Megan had become used to the occasional reporter after she’d joined the morning show. This level of excitement shouldn’t be happening. I’ll send out a press release on our engagement so the news will hit the papers the morning after you move in. “Oh. Crud.” Tamika slung her coat off onto the rack and raced over to where Sophie stood. The mixers churned away, entirely forgotten. “Tell me. Because you wouldn’t believe what questions they were asking.” “Well—” The door blew open once more, bringing a flash, flash, flash of camera lights and a discordant mix of yelling. Her other assistant, Megan, blocked the growing crowd before

banging the big door closed. Her eyes were wide and her red wool hat was askew. “What's going on?” “This is very exciting.” Tamika pulled her phone from her jeans pocket and began texting. “This is crazy.” Megan yanked off her hat and paced to the mixers, a frown of concern on her face. “They are saying…saying…” Her eyes dropped to Sophie’s left hand. “My God.” The ring. The damn ring. She’d forgotten— “Look, Tamika.” Before she could slip her hand behind her back, Megan latched onto it and yanked forward the damning evidence. “Sophie’s engaged.” “Wait. What those reporters were shouting is true?” Her other assistant crowded around the other side of the mixer. “It’s beautiful, Soph.” The ring was beautiful. She hated to admit that if only to herself, but it was beautiful. The center stone glowed—a golden fancy diamond. Around it wove a series of diamond studded petals, their gleaming, pure-white brilliance making the warmth of the center of the ring even more striking. “I should take it off.” For good. “If I had that on my finger,” Tamika kept staring, “there’d be no way I’d ever take it off.” “I have to bake.” Sophie shook herself. This was her business. The business was most important—not standing around worshiping a ring. Megan glanced up from the ring. “One of those reporters—”

“We all have to bake.” Tugging her hand out of the inspection zone, Sophie marched to the other mixer. “Those reporters said you’re engaged to Alex Stravoudas.” Megan’s hushed voice filled the big room as if she were in a church. “That’s what I heard, too.” Tamika’s usually booming voice turned faint. “I couldn’t believe it.” She swiveled around and stared her assistants down. “I’m engaged. To Alexander Stravoudas. No big deal.” Both sets of eyes staring at her widened. Megan gulped. “This is a huge deal.” “Yeah.” Tamika bobbed her head, her weaved ponytail bobbing. “Huge.” “You said you didn’t like him, Soph.” “Yes, well, things change.” She stared down into the mixer, monitoring the dough as it began to curl on the edges of the steel bowl. The memory of the last conversation she’d had about change came to her. Anything can change. Quite quickly too. But you know that, don’t you, Sophia? She kept staring at the dough, willing her assistants to leave the topic alone. However, Tamika and Megan had worked with her for two years now, and any professional courtesy had fallen away after long, sweltering hours standing by the ovens. “You are so lucky,” Megan crowed as she danced to Sophie’s side. “He’s so hot.” “Girlfriend.” Tamika’s long arms wrapped around her and lifted her in the air as if she were a doll. “You have definitely hit the jackpot with Mr. Stravoudas.”

Crud. This was the exact same reaction her best friends had given her last night. If it weren’t so awful and horrible, it would be hilarious. “Put me down.” “He’s beautiful,” Megan cooed, her hands clasped in front of her like she was a starving child gazing at a Christmas feast. Tamika bounced around, ignoring Sophie’s demand. “He’s rich.” “That’s not why I’m—” “He was never the right one for that Melanie girlfriend of yours.” Tamika nodded her head, the iPod’s earplugs bopping in a white line along her neck. “Well, that’s true—” “I’ve read everything about him.” Her other assistant’s hands tightened, her eyes going dreamy. “He’s perfect.” “He’s not perfect.” Anger and frustration rippled from the pit of her gut and filled her voice. Each word spit out of her mouth with fervor. “Put. Me. Down.” Tamika stopped and peered into her face, her brown eyes puzzled. “Why aren’t you happy?” “She has to be happy.” Megan came to stand next to them, her face equally quizzical. “She’s marrying the Perfect Man.” “I’m happy, okay?” She squeezed the words from her mouth. “But our clients aren’t going to be if we don’t start baking.” She got plopped on her feet. Finally. “We’re so glad for you, Soph.”

“Yeah, we are.” Tamika looked like she was about to pat her employer on the head, something she’d done a time or two when Sophie had been mad about something. She stepped back. “Time to bake.” The next two hours went by at a quick clip, filled with the smell of yeast and butter and vanilla. Racks of her favorite lime and ginger scones slid from the hot ovens while dough for the cream chocolate tarts rolled out on the steel tables. She kept her mind on the baking, answering all the excited questions with short, prickly answers. By the time Jorge appeared at the door, her two assistants had quieted down to giving her an odd glance every once and awhile. “Well, well, well.” The older man stomped into the room, closing the door behind him. For the moment the door stood open, surprisingly, there was no longer any cacophony of reporters yelling questions and clicking off photographs. “Where did the reporters go?” Megan stopped pounding the dough, appearing to be ready to launch herself at the door. “They’re still there.” He waved away the question. “Some guards are keeping them back.” “Guards?” Sophie couldn’t help her curiosity. “Guards. I’m figuring they weren’t hired by you, huh, Soph?” Jorge brandished his usual papers in front of him. “What’s going on with this?” She went back to rolling out the dough, ignoring him as she’d ignored her assistants. Still, the fact he’d sent guards to protect her burbled deep inside. “She’s engaged.” Megan piped in, excitement filling her voice once more.

Tamika’s broad smile came back on her face after disappearing in the last hour. “She’s marrying Alex—” “Stravoudas.” He marched to the steel table and stared at her. “I thought you didn’t even like the guy.” I don’t. “I didn’t—” “But he did say the other night you two were old friends.” The bald head cocked to the side. “The other night?” Tamika pounced. “He was here.” Jorge leaned on the table and finally smiled, pleased to have more gossip to share. “Two nights ago.” “Gosh, Sophie.” Megan beamed. “You’ve been having this amazing love affair right under our noses. I didn’t think you had it in you.” “Time to bake.” She clenched her fist, glad she’d taken off the ring as soon as she’d been able to. “Jorge. The brioche is ready to be delivered.” All three of them stared at her for a second and then went right back to cooing and ahhhing over the tabloid articles about herself and the Perfect Man getting hitched. Frustration made her want to hit something. Or someone. Even here, in her bakery, he was ruining everything. “I mean it—” Her phone rang in the office. A new order. She never ignored a new order. Pacing into the dinky square room, she snatched up her phone. “Pure Pastry.” “Sophie!”

Her mother. Sounding excited and happy. Which was unusual. Her mother normally personified the word irritated. Crud. She straightened her back. There could be no possible way her mother would have found out about this engagement all the way down in Florida where she and Sophie’s dad had retired two years ago. No way. “You’re getting married!” She gritted her teeth. “Mom.” “I was so excited when your Aunt Eileen called, even though it woke your father.” She was going to kill her Aunt Eileen, who was as bad as Jorge when it came to buying the tabloids. Why hadn’t she thought of that? “I couldn’t believe my ears.” Her mother’s voice hushed, as if, like Megan, she was about to enter a church. “Well, it happened—” “I was a bit upset I hadn’t heard it from you, but I can understand how impetuous young people can be.” “Mom--” “I did that Googling thing. He’s very handsome.” Her mother went on. “Very rich.” What was this about rich? Had she ever once proclaimed she wanted to marry rich? If she wanted to be rich, she’d get rich herself. “Mom—” “I couldn’t have picked a better man for my girl.”

How could her mother possibly know he was a better man than all the other men she’d dated? Especially when he was clearly NOT. “Mom—” “Your dad wants to talk to you.” Oh. Help. “Princess?” Her father’s gravelly voice rumbled into her ear. “What’s this I’m hearing?” Sudden tears blurred her vision. Because she could hear it in her dad’s voice. He was happy, too. He’d always encouraged her dreams and complimented her on her independence, yet now, right here and now, she realized he’d also wanted her to be secure in a marriage. “Daddy.” “I have to say, your man appears pretty impressive.” Her mother’s voice came, muffled in the background, cutting off her dad’s comments. “Yes, yes, Margaret. I’ll ask her. Sophie? Wasn’t this the young man who was engaged to your friend?” “Yes, Dad, except…” The tears threatened to spill and she spun around to stare at the calendar on the wall to prevent any snoopy assistants figuring out her agitation. “But your friend split with him, hmm?” Erich Feuer stopped and then started again. “Or that’s what your mother is telling me.” “Yes.” This situation did make her appear pretty awful. At least from the outside. Was that how the tabloids were covering it? For once, she wished she’d snatched the papers from Jorge’s hands. “See, Dad, it’s a long story—” “Well, I trust you, Princess.” Her daddy’s voice went soft. “You always have known what’s best for you.”

A blinding rage swept through her. She was going to have to make a call, sometime in the near future, and ruin her parents’ happiness. She was going to have to disappoint them and it was all Alexander Stravoudas’s fault. Sophie twisted the cell phone away in order to take in a gasping breath of fury mixed with distress. A muffled “Let me have the phone,” echoed through the line and her mother came back on, her voice filled with joy. “Sophie?” “Yeah, mom.” “We’re going to come for a visit.” Oh. God. No. “Mom, I don’t think—” “Just a short one, nothing to worry about. We want to meet your man.” Could anything be worse? “Mom—” “We realize this is your busy time of year.” Her mother trilled on, oblivious to any of her daughter’s anguish. “We’ll stay with your Aunt Eileen so we won’t get in your way.” Her dad hated staying with Aunt Eileen. She leaned on the wall, thinking about banging her head until she went numb for a couple of months. Still, she heard the determination in her mom’s voice. No matter what she said or did, her parents were coming. “You can stay at my place.” There was a pause. “That will be a bit cramped…” She sighed at the inevitable. “I’m not staying there right now.” “Truly?” She could practically see her mom dancing a jig in her Florida condo. “You’re living with him.”

To Margaret Feuer, living with a man was a big deal. Sophie had spent many a teenage moment listening to lectures on not putting all your eggs in one basket and not giving away the milk for free and Rome wasn’t built in a day. Her mom did like her sayings. And the sayings had made an impact. She had never once lived with a guy. So, this was big. Or it would be big if it were real. “We’ll check on flights and let you know,” her mom warbled. “Plan on us staying for a couple of weeks through Thanksgiving.” Fantastic. They’d be here for the ball. Sophie banged her head on the wall.


Chapter Six

She wore an awful black box of a pantsuit. Alex eased back on the limo’s leather-covered seat and stifled a groan. He supposed he should be gleeful about Sophia’s lack of looks and how people were going to judge her tonight. Especially after all the trouble she’d caused him during the past few months and the past few days. But the last thing he wanted was to walk into his city-famous happy hour with this woman on his arm looking like a frump. A frump. With him. “Take your hair down.” Perhaps it would cover some of the horrible black of her suit. Didn’t the woman know there were different shades of black and that this particular shade made her skin look like dried bones? She shot her annoyed glare at him. “Stop trying to remake me.” They’d had this same conversation, with minor variations, during the last four days she’d lived with him.

Every morning she arrived in the kitchen with her hair stuffed into that tight ponytail she always wore. Invariably, she had on some ugly fuchsia or pastel sweater with ratty jeans and ancient sneakers. He’d offered to buy her some new sweaters. She’d told him to mind his own business. He’d told her that ratty jeans weren’t professional. She’d sworn at him. He’d mentioned getting some new sneakers. She’d sneered. Every evening they’d attended some function he needed to be at. He had to suffer through hours of staring at the top of her head, with her brown hair knotted into a motley chignon or twisted braid. Looking at her hair, though, was always better than looking farther down. Down meant encountering the flaps of another pantsuit covering any hope of a female figure. Did the woman even have a waist? She was a box from her big tits to her overly round hips. That was bad enough. What was worse, were the colors. Neon blue. Metallic green. Garish pink. The woman had no sense of style or color. Truly, she needed to meet his mother and sisters. The thought of that coming confrontation made him groan out loud. “Are you sick?” She didn’t sound concerned. Rather, she sounded amused. “What makes me sick is that thing you’re wear—”

Her little hand shot forward, palm facing him. “Stop right there. I didn’t ask for your opinion.” “But you need it.” She grunted a dismissal and swung around to stare through the window at the flashing lights of the city. Alex grunted back at her and looked out his own window. This morning, he’d hoped to see her in something other than ugly since today had been her TV show day. He’d even found himself lying in his bed last night wondering if she’d have her hair down for once or if she’d wear lipstick. He’d been stunned at how disappointed he’d been when she’d arrived in the kitchen looking even worse than usual. “They do me over when I get there,” she’d explained. “I would think you’d—” “And why are you getting up every morning anyway?” She threw the words over her shoulder before running out the door, her long brown hair latched to the top of her head like a clump of mud. Why he’d risen every morning at four a.m., much to Sophia’s displeasure, was easy to explain. He wasn’t being bossy or nosy—both accusations shot at him from her unpainted lips more than once. Nope. It was simple. She woke him. Every morning.

He’d lived alone since moving out of the apartment he’d shared with Henry all through college. He liked living alone. After a childhood of sharing space with a bunch of females, he’d enjoyed the solitude. The quiet. Everything in the place he’d put it. Sophia had disturbed every piece of his place with her presence. When he’d settled in to watch some TV, the remote control was not where he’d left it. Several times, he’d had to pluck her coat from the couch and put it in the closet where it belonged. She not only discarded her ancient sneakers in the front hall, she’d also abandoned her surprisingly sexy high heels there too. All three pair. He glanced at her tiny feet. They were clad with the heels that were black but sparkly. His sisters would like those shoes. “You found your shoes.” She peered at the shoes, her forehead scrunched in a frown. “I had to look everywhere in that mausoleum of yours. They weren’t by the front door.” Mausoleum? What the hell did she mean by that? His penthouse had been written about by some of the top interior design magazines in the world. Her contempt for everything he was and everything he had made him lose his patience and his manners. “Shoes are not supposed to be left at the front door.” Her head whipped around, her eyes dancing. “Oh, no. Did I break one of your rules, Alexander?” The elongated vowels in his name soured his mood even more than her clothing. “I had Mrs. Palmer bring them back to your bedroom.” “How nice of you.” She snuggled into the corner of the seat, a smile tugging at her lips. “Or rather, nice of Mrs. Palmer.”

He gave her another grunt of disgust and the noise made her smile widen. Swinging around to stare out the limo once more, he went back to his list of grievances against her. She watched the stupidest programs on TV. All those reality shows with roses and singers and exotic locations where people wore bikinis and ate bugs. “Don’t you get tired of that stuff?” he’d yelled from his office as a particularly horrible singer launched into a screechy tune. She’d laughed. “About as tired as you get watching game after game of football.” How did she know he liked football? She hadn’t been around yet for his usual Sunday afternoon hangout with Henry and the guys. Melanie. Melanie must have told her. The thought of his ex-fiancée turned his mood darker. Then there were the morning smells emanating from her separate bathroom. At least he didn’t have to share one with her. He’d had enough of that during his teenage years. Years where he’d been allowed maybe five minutes to take a shower in between sisters. He’d forgotten. The sweet smell of female shampoo. The waft of slinky perfume edging under the closed door. The drift of hairspray and lotion and ivory soap. Girly and addicting, with rich scents that teased his nose. He’d forgotten. The way a woman filled a bathroom with her things. The pile of glass pots and brushes and tubes of something haphazardly arranged on the wide marble counter reminded him

of his sisters. For a woman who was all natural, Sophia certainly had a lot of female doodads. He’d forgotten how females always had their doodads. None of this was the reason he awakened every morning way before he usually did. Not the shoes or the TV or the doodads. It was her humming. She hummed past his bedroom every morning. A low, provoking purr. The noise woke every part of him. Every damn part. Naturally, he always woke with an erection. That had nothing to do with anything about Ms. Feuer. Yet he’d never managed to get himself back to sleep. Instead, he’d listen to the shower and wonder if the woman had a waist. Not wanting to speculate on that for long, he’d get out of bed and take his own damn shower. What he did in that shower every morning for the last three mornings made his mood go mean. “You have no sense of color.” “This is getting old.” Her brown eyes snapped. “I’ve worn every one of these suits on the TV show. They were handpicked by Freddie.” “Your producer.” “Correct.” She turned to stare out at the street. “The man I’m meeting tonight.” He’d be tempted to pull this Freddie aside and have a word with him about his fiancée’s wardrobe if Sophia were his real fiancée.

“She’s a woman. But yes, you’ll meet her tonight.” Her plump hand smoothed down her leg and his ring twinkled at him. For once, something she had on looked good on her. The warm color of the golden diamond made her skin turn creamy. The thought made him shake his head. Creamy skin. What the hell was he thinking? At least she’d followed his directions in this one area if nowhere else. It had taken him two days to impress on her the need to wear the ring. All the time. The limo swung around the corner and approached the hotel housing the bar where he’d held his weekly Friday night happy hours for years. At first, it had been only him and Henry, sinking into a booth, swigging down a beer. Twelve years later, the tradition continued, but now included almost all of their fifty-five New York staff. Every single one of those fifty-five people had stopped by his office during the last four days to congratulate him. Sincerely. Heartily. Enviously. “Sophie’s the bomb,” Matt, the intern, had stated, his grin wide. “You’re one lucky guy.” “You got my favorite girl,” Jamal, his structural engineer, moaned in despair. “I hope she hangs around here,” Carly, the receptionist, squealed. “She’s a lot of fun.” He hadn’t realized the connections Sophia had made while he’d been busy wooing Melanie. Sure, he’d spotted her at some of his happy hours along with Melanie’s other

friends. Yet after spending a time or two under her close observation and having to fend off more than a few potshots, he’d steered clear of Ms. Feuer. His staff apparently hadn’t. His mood didn’t move farther south; it boiled over. “I’m not letting you attend any more functions with me the way you look now.” “Letting.” Her voice turned raw with rage. “Yes. Letting.” Her hand fisted in her lap, his ring flashing. “The way I look now.” “Yes.” The limo stopped. He didn’t usually hire a limo to get around. He had his Porsche parked in the penthouse’s underground garage. Or he walked. Took a taxi. Still, tonight he’d thought it might be good to make a splash, arrive in style, start this next wave of press on a positive note. “We’re finally here.” She spun away from him. “Thank God.” Before he or the approaching driver could react, the provoking woman popped the door open and sprang out onto the pavement. “Sophia.” Alex lunged, trying to keep her back from the press, but she moved too fast. “Hell.” “Okay, okay.” With a flip of her hand, she marched through the throng of paparazzi. “Take your pictures, guys, but I need a drink after a long day of baking.” “Sophie.” One of them laughed. “Where’s your guy?” “Can’t have you walking around alone, Soph.” Another one joked.

“He’s back there.” Another flip of a tiny hand while she sashayed to the front door. “I can’t wait for him to catch up.” And with that, she disappeared into the hotel. “Sir?” The driver’s face was impassive as he held Alex’s door open. *** Sophie liked these people. She liked Jamal’s big laugh and Matt’s funny faces. She enjoyed hearing about Carly’s adventures in dating. Henry had bounded over as soon as she’d walked in and given her a tight hug while his PA, Andrea, had burbled her delight at seeing her again. Even Mr. Perfect’s PA, Christine, had unbent enough to send her a chilly smile of greeting. The fact they all worked for or with him was a fact she found hard to swallow. How could these intelligent, pleasant people work with such an arrogant, nasty man? She hadn’t seen any of them since the demise of the Perfect Couple’s engagement and she had to admit, she’d been a bit worried about their reaction to the new one. “I’m very happy for you and Alex,” Andrea gushed. Guess the worry wasn’t needed. “I couldn’t be happier at the news,” Carly raved. Guess there were other crazy people, beyond her friends, parents, and co-workers, who thought this engagement wasn’t…crazy. “I think you’ll be good for Alex.” Christine smiled once more. Guess his PA had no idea how close she was to losing her boss to the flames of a bakery oven.

I’m not letting you attend any more functions with me the way you look now. The fury at his bossy pronouncement made her clench her fists. She’d had to stalk away from him or she would have socked him in the eye. She knew he’d arranged their arrival for the press for effect. But she’d figured, in a split second of decision, he’d rather walk through the crowd of paparazzi alone then walk through it with a black eye and her by his side. She glanced around. Barreling into the bar, she’d been bombarded with congratulations for the last fifteen minutes. Only now could she catch her breath. Low-slung couches lined one side of the room while the glass windows on the other side looked out on 44th Street. The central fireplace lit the surrounding tables with warmth while the back bar did a brisk business. Where was he? Why should she care? The man could not stop jabbering on and on about her clothing. As if he knew anything about women’s clothing. The pantsuits she wore to any public function were hand-picked by Freddie. Freddie knew everything about fashion and she would not— “Sophie.” Her six-foot, blonde panther of a producer appeared before her eyes, a wide smile creasing her elongated cheeks. Fred had had a bit too much plastic surgery in Sophie’s opinion, but whatever. “You are amazing.” Well, yes, she was. Yet she had a gut feeling Freddie wasn’t talking about her baking skills. “Hey, Fred.”

“There is not another man in New York who would generate this much buzz for our show.” Her gut had been right as always. “Where is he?” Freddie’s long, flowing locks swished over her shoulders as she glanced around the bustling bar. “Don’t tell me he isn’t here.” “I’m sure he’s here.” Her brushoff in the limo wouldn’t have been enough to ravage Alexander the Great’s mighty pride. “Somewhere.” Anywhere far from her side was just fine with her. The last three nights of having his lean arm encircling her—his large, ugly hand on her hip, his heat burning down her side —the last three nights had been enough to ruin her usual predictable dead-to-the-world sleep pattern. What she needed tonight was for him to stay far away so she could finally get a good night’s sleep. “I don’t see him.” Freddie kept peering around the low-lit bar. All the rows of dark leather couches were filled and the crowd circling the gleaming wood bar was large. Yet much as Sophie hated to admit it, Mr. Perfection would stand out anywhere and she couldn’t see him either. “I have to talk to him about coming on the show.” Horror thumped low in her stomach. “No, Freddie, you can’t—” “I have this great idea.” The older woman’s blue eyes blazed with delight. “In Paris, you and Alex can pretend to be visiting—” “No. Absolutely not.” Visiting Paris had been her dream for years. The last thing she wanted while living her dream was dragging an arrogant—

“Here you are, Sophia.” The lean arm, the arm she’d become far more used to than she wanted to admit, slinked around her. “It’s hard to find you in the crowd. You’re extremely…short.” The last word came with a pointed clip like a poker sliding into her side. But it only made her smile. Exactly as she thought, she’d pricked his pride and now he was trying to prick her. Instead, he’d confirmed she’d made a score. “Alex Stravoudas.” Her producer said his name as if choirs of angels were about to appear and sing an anthem. “I’m amazingly glad to meet you.” One of his brutish hands rose to shake Fred’s ring-adorned hand. “I’m always glad to meet one of Sophia’s friends.” His pointed tone slid right into smooth. The charm offense. Of course. Freddie’s smile threatened to ruin her plastic surgeon’s last operation. “I’m Sophia’s TV producer.” The long, hard body along her side tensed. “You’re the fabled Freddie?” “Yes,” her producer crowed. “And I have quite a bit to discuss with you.” “No, Fred.” Soph tried to intervene, but Fredia Schermerhorn had not vaulted to TV success by being timid. “I think it would be wonderful if you joined Sophie during several of her visits to pastry chefs while you’re both in Paris.” “Do you?” His arm tugged. Very slightly, very softly. Before she knew it, Sophie had been eased into the crook between his arm and chest. His heat went through her and she

was hit with the impression that…she fit. Then, then his hand—the burly, broad hand— moved. Every atom in her body zinged to immediate life as his hand absently smoothed across her hip. He’d never moved his arm before. Or his hand. Every other time, she could tell the arm and the hand were there for show and nothing else. The hand shifted once more, hard fingers pressing into her flesh. Warmth curled along her hip and into the pit of her stomach. A sexual warmth. Another horror leapt to life inside her. Wrenching away, she forced a smile. Let the man deal with Freddie on his own. Because, clearly, Sophia Feuer had gone crazy and couldn’t handle Alexander Stravoudas handling her. “I need a drink.” Both of them—tall, lean, blond and bewildered—stared at her. Freddie finally frowned. For sure, her plastic surgeon wasn’t going to be happy when she visited him next. “We need to nail the details of your Paris trip down.” “I gave Henry our order.” Alex’s gaze never left her face. “He’s bringing your drink over right now.” “Here you are, Soph.” Henry sidled into the conversation. A delicate, lowball glass filled with coffee-colored alcohol topped with whipped cream and chocolate shavings swept in front of her. “Just like Alex ordered.” A buttercup. Sophie jerked her head up from the drink. How did he know she loved this drink in the winter? Had Melanie gabbed about the drinks they shared when they had

a MUST meeting? The thought came again, the recognition that this man swirled in and out of her life, noting everything, knowing too much. “I think I’ll have a glass of wine tonight.” “You don’t like wine.” Alex’s mouth edged down. “You don’t appreciate it either.” His comment came like a slap. Her temper roared back to life and her hand fisted once more. “What a thing to say to your fiancée, Stravoudas.” Henry’s booming laugh came from behind her. “You can’t expect her to be a connoisseur like you. I assume Sophie spent her time learning about pastry while you stomped around your grandfather’s French vineyard. Each of you are experts in your own area.” She gave her fake fiancé a puzzled look. He’d spent time in France? His grandfather owned a winery? Evidently, she had more to learn about him than the mere fact he had four sisters. Curiosity curled inside her brain and even though she cursed it, she still wanted to know more about him. “I’m sure Sophie will have tons of things to teach you when you’re touring Parisian patisseries.” Freddie had not deserted her quest. “What’s that?” Henry bent forward, his shaggy black hair falling on his forehead. “While Sophie and Alex are in Paris, we’re going to do a whole series of shows of them touring a variety of pastry shops.” Her producer’s face glowed with inspiration. “I’m even talking to some of the top pastry chefs about doing a series of demonstrations.” Henry’s heavy brows lowered. “Who are you?”

“My bad.” Sophie waved a hand between them. “This is my TV producer, Fredia Schermerhorn. Freddie this is—” “Henry Kluge. Alex’s partner.” His words were clipped. “Are you talking about the trip to Paris in a couple of weeks?” “That’s the one,” Freddie burbled. “I’m sorry.” Henry’s voice lowered along with his bushy brows. “But Alex isn’t going to have time to tour pastry shops when we’re in Paris.” Sophie slid a glance towards her tall, blond tormentor. Wouldn’t his ego object to being told he couldn’t do something? He appeared relieved. He didn’t want to explore Paris with her. She sucked in a breath. She didn’t want that either, right? Right. “I’m sure he’ll have a little time here and there.” Her producer wasn’t going to let go of her dream easily. A brutish hand clamped onto her elbow. “I’ll let you two hash out my Paris schedule.” There was a hint of amusement dancing on the fringe of his words yet when she glanced at him again, his gaze was solemn. “I need to have a word with Sophia.” She allowed herself to be tugged away because she really didn’t want to squash Freddie’s dreams herself. Let Henry play the heavy. By the look on her producer’s face, he was doing a fine job of it. “So that’s Freddie.” Alexander let go of her elbow. “Yes.”

“And she’s the one who chooses all your clothes.” “Not all.” What was with this guy and his obsession about her clothes? Her nails pressed into her palm. “But most.” He looked at her and she saw the clear amusement in his eyes. For the first time, she noticed his eyes weren’t merely blue. They were the exact color of her favorite pastry sneakers. Turquoise. He leaned down, his lush lips starting to smile. “Admit it, Sophia. She picks out everything except your ugly sweaters and old jeans.” “I, ah…” She should be angry at that last jab, but instead she kept staring. “Do you wear contacts?” “What?” His eyebrows rose and it suddenly hit her that, unlike his blond hair, his brows were a rich caramel color, exactly like her famous caramel éclairs. “What are you talking about?” Her gaze shot back to those eyes. That could not be a natural color. “Answer my question.” “Contacts?” His eyebrows frowned. “No. I don’t.” They were natural? He must be lying. “Is this something you needed to know about me?” The twinkle in his eyes began to dance. “I thought you had enough information about me.” She did. She honestly did.

He turned and the firelight flickered across his cheek and a hint of caramel now decorated the line of his jaw and chin. He needed a shave. The beauty of the detail struck her hard in her solar plexus. “Sophie.” Henry’s booming voice broke her from the awful enchantment about details she hadn’t ever noticed and didn’t want to notice now. “That woman.” Tearing her gaze away from caramel and turquoise, she smiled at Henry with gratefulness. “Freddie is a handful.” “I believe I nipped this pastry business in the bud,” he stated, his one look at his partner filled with satisfaction. “Sophie can still do her shots, but you’ll be where you’re supposed to be, Alex.” Her fake fiancé made a sound. A slight, soft sound that pulled her back to looking at him. There was something in those turquoise eyes. Something raw and harsh. And then it was gone. “That’s my friend Henry.” His smile came, wide and perfect. “Always saving me.”


Chapter Seven

Alex had planned the ambush very deliberately, and right on cue, Sophia did not disappoint. “What is this?” Her shriek cut through the solid walls of his penthouse. He’d slipped into her bedroom while she’d been in the shower to leave the explosive gift on her bed. He’d been tempted to buy her some jewelry as well, but had thought better of it. The one gift would be enough to set her off. Alex flipped the tail of his tie over the knot and slipped the notch to his neck. His bedroom door banged open. “What is this?” He turned from the full-length mirror to stare across the room at her. “It’s a dress.” “I can see that.” She vibrated with fury, her round face tight with anger. “Why is it in my bedroom?” “Because I bought it for you to wear tonight.” She shook the silk in front of her as if to shake the garment out of existence. “I have a totally appropriate gown I’m going to wear.”

“What? Not another pantsuit?” He walked to the walnut armoire and slipped the palegrey suit jacket off its hanger. “You’ll wear the dress I bought you.” “If I wanted to wear a pantsuit, I would. But Freddie told me I should wear a dress.” He sighed. It had been two weeks since he’d met her producer and he’d been extremely busy with work; he hadn’t had time to broach the obvious subject of why a blonde, brazen Amazon should not be choosing clothes for a freckled, fierce Lilliputian. Sophia had been scarce every evening also, too swamped to attend any more events with him. With his blessing. Spending several nights in her company had made him realize she was dangerous to his equilibrium. Her busy holiday baking season had been an excellent excuse for her not being his escort. “You have to know that letting Freddie pick—” “The dress won’t fit.” He glanced over and caught an expression he’d never before seen on Sophia Feuer’s face. One of fragile insecurity. Something hard yanked in his chest. “The dress will fit.” He slid the jacket on, then pulled on the gold cuff links, straightening his cotton twill shirt. His father had given him the cufflinks on his seventeenth birthday. The glint of the intaglio-set horse’s head glittered against the black onyx. The cufflinks had been the last gift his father had given him before his death. The jagged thought cut right through him. As always. “You don’t know for sure.” Sophia’s voice brought him back with a tight snap. Not because her tone was its usual fractious scraping sound, but because it was exactly the opposite.

Halting and hesitant. He glanced at her again. Her sullen mouth and wary gaze made that something in his chest hurt. He’d planned this whole confrontation carefully; he knew she’d be angry. He wanted her that way. He wanted her screeching and yelling so he could remember how much she enraged him. He needed those memories in the front of his brain instead of the memory of how she slumped into the couch every evening waiting for whatever he’d cooked to be served. The memory of her long dark lashes falling on her freckles. The memory of her round, roly-poly body looking like a little puff pastry on his elegant black furniture. He wanted to wipe out the tendril of tenderness he’d felt a time or two or three. She’d screeched. Now, he should lower the boom with a threat and she’d march off in a huff, forced to do what he said. And all of his thoughts of tenderness would disappear. Yet suddenly, he didn’t want his plan to work. Suddenly, he wanted to coax her instead of corral her. He didn’t know why and he didn’t even want to think about the question. The recent conversation with his maman shot into his brain. “My mother watched you on your TV show the last two Fridays.” “Huh?” Her forehead wrinkled in confusion. “My maman is very good at determining a female’s shape. After all, she has four daughters.” He strode over and grabbed the silk dress from her hands before she twisted it any further. “I asked her to choose something for you for this evening.” “I can dress myself.” The words were tough, yet the glance she shot him was filled with confused worry. “I want to look like myself when we go to this ball of yours.”

“This is a gift from my mother.” It wasn’t. The only comment his mother had made about Sophie was that she was cute and nothing like Melanie. And what was he thinking? And…and…and…he’d cut off the conversation before it went any further. However, he knew enough about his fake fiancée now to know it would be hard for her to turn this down. She might not have a soft spot for him, but for everyone else? He stared at her, keeping his smile light and easy. “She’ll be upset if you come to the party without the dress on.” The stubborn woman twisted her pouty mouth while she squinted at the gown in his hands. “It’s not the right color.” As if she knew anything about color. During the last three weeks she’d lived with him, he was pretty sure he’d seen most of her wardrobe. Every item of clothing should be tossed in a dump. Especially the pantsuits. “This is the perfect color for you. I promise you.” “It’s purple. I never wear purple.” “No, it’s what my mother calls aubergine.” He smoothed the silk across his arm. “Or eggplant.” His maman would never use the plebeian term eggplant to describe a garment. “Non, non, mon fils.” She would laugh as he studied at the kitchen table, his teenage stomach growling for food. While she cooked her family favorite ratatouille stew, she often helped him with his homework. If he occasionally walked over to snatch a sample, she’d laugh once more and bat him away with a spoon. “Eggplant is for food. Aubergine is for clothes.”

Alex glanced at Sophia, his mouth quirking. “What?” She eyed him with suspicion. “I just realized something.” “What?” “Nothing important.” He stifled a laugh. He certainly wasn’t going to share the thought racing through his head. If he told Sophia she reminded him of the taste of raw eggplant—bitter—she might refuse to even attend the ball. Another thought zinged through him. How bitter the vegetable was until his mother blended it with tomatoes and peppers and thyme, where it became tender and rich, a complex flavor he’d cherished as a child. Would Sophia be the same if he delved deeper under her surface? He whipped around at the thought and marched to the mirror. “Come here.” “You’re always ordering me around.” Her words promised defiance. Still, he heard her shuffling closer. “Stand in front of me.” Her feet were bare, pale nails and tiny toes. She wore a sloppy, white T-shirt and her usual ragged jeans. The top of her head barely came to the middle of his chest. Alex looked down at the mass of brown hair sitting on top of her head in some weird curly design. Apparently, she’d started with her hair for the big occasion. He almost demanded she take the ugly thing apart, but the dress was the war he needed to win for tonight.

Glancing up, he met her apprehensive gaze. She hadn’t put any makeup on yet, making her face—round cheeks, pale skin, light dust of freckles—look like a child’s. Another something tugged inside his chest. He slipped the garment off his arm and swung it in front of her. Lifting the strapless bodice to cover the white of her shirt, he stared at her in the mirror. The layered petals of aubergine slitted down into a basque waistline, giving the illusion of length. The rest of the gown belled out in a smooth sweep that hit her mid-calf. He’d gone to Linvan, the Madison Avenue boutique his sister Ceci swore by, to get this dress. The dress that had taken him two hours to find. The dress that turned her skin to cream. He shook the thought from his mind. “See?” Her dark eyes stared. “Notice how the color makes your skin look.” Creamy Sophia. “See how you’ll still be able to wear your fancy shoes for everyone to see?” She shifted and the faint smell of vanilla wafted into his nose. He had a sudden urge to lean in, to catch the deeper scent of warmth and woman. “I don’t like showing my…” He met her worried gaze in the mirror. “Your?” Her mouth tightened. “My breasts.” Her halting admission turned the hard thing in his chest to mush. “Sophia—”

“Never mind.” She tugged the gown from his hands and stomped to the door. “I’ll wear the damn thing.” The damn thing that had cost him several thousand dollars, but he wasn’t going to rile her with that information. He’d won. “I can’t wait to see you in it,” he said with a bright smile. She glanced over her shoulder, throwing him a withering glare. “I’m doing this for your mother.” Ah, yes. Sophia’s sweet spot for everyone but him had won him this victory. He couldn’t wait to see her. If he’d guessed correctly, that dress was going to make her look…gorgeous. The thought surprised him, like a lot of his thoughts lately. *** Of course, he’d have his wedding reception at Irving Hall. Of course. “What?” His voice came from across the limo seat. As soon as they’d been picked up at his penthouse, he’d wedged himself into the corner giving him a clear view of her face. Why Alexander Stravoudas wanted to stare at her face, she had no idea. He’d given her one peculiar look when she’d charged out of her bedroom with the stupid dress on and then he’d given her another strange look when she’d smiled at the limo driver. Much to her discomfort, he’d continued to stare at her all through the drive to Irving Hall. So it wasn’t surprising then, that he’d caught the roll of her eyes. “Typical that you’d pick this place for your wedding reception.”

“Engagement party,” he corrected her, his wide mouth quirking at the edge. “Actually, a lot of people have their wedding receptions and engagement parties here.” She knew that. She’d provided the wedding cakes and desserts for several of them at this New York City landmark. But the people who picked Irving Hall for their weddings and parties weren’t regular people. No, the privileged picked here. The powerful. The perfect. Much like Alexander the Great. She huffed. Him. Perfect. Whatever. “My mother and sisters picked this place.” He shrugged, drawing her gaze to the impeccable fit of his black wool coat. “And Melanie…” Sophie’s gaze narrowed. As his face went blank and his mouth went tight and his eyes went flat, an emotion twisted deep inside her. An emotion she had no intention of pulling out and examining. He shrugged again, the muscles along his jaw tensing. “Melanie didn’t complain.” The way he said the last word called attention to all the times Sophie had complained. About everything. His tone also called attention to the fact that Melanie never complained about anything. What did she care if Alex Stravoudas didn’t like his new fiancée’s complaints? He had no one to blame except himself. The limo rolled to a stop at the curb. A bright red carpet led from the edge of the street to the marble staircase leading to two ten-foot brass doors. A couple walked up to the doorman and smiled as he let them in. Sophie didn’t recognize them, yet she’d recognize a whole bunch of people shortly.

She glanced down at her hands, gloved and fisted in her lap. Melanie and Jack were going to be here this evening. The fact that this would be the first time Melanie would see her ex and Alex would see his lost trophy shouldn’t make a difference to her. But it did. It really did. “I’m surprised Melanie didn’t tell you.” He paused once more after his ex’s name. Her friend had been vague and disinterested about her entire wedding and reception. Having a reception at Irving Hall was worth a loud, big celebration all on its own. Mel hadn’t said a word, though, and it had only been when Sophie had inquired about upcoming events at the hall that she found out her friend’s reception was booked there. Mel’s inattention had been one of the first clues Sophie had noted that told her something was wrong with her best bud and her engagement. Mel was always about frou-frou— dresses and lace and girly decorations—unlike herself. When she hadn’t disclosed the details of the biggest day in her life? Wrong. In so many ways wrong. The whispers of doubt she’d been dealing with as Alexander Stravoudas spoke Melanie’s name got swept away in a second. Whatever his real feelings for her best buddy, he hadn’t been right for Mel. Not at all. She’d done the right thing. “She didn’t tell you anything?” His voice went low, pained. Another emotion twisted deep down inside. Not guilt precisely. Not a swirl of second thoughts. Still, something close to that as she realized her actions had been right for Mel, but painful for him. “I never asked,” she managed. “And it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

Forcing herself to look at him, she met his gaze. There was pain there, dammit. And no longer any anger towards her, which made the crazy brew of doubt and regret inside bubble to a boil. She should say something. I’m sorry. Yet she wasn’t. It’s for the best. The best for Melanie, but maybe, Oh God, maybe not for him? I didn’t realize you were hurt. I didn’t realize you are human. I didn’t realize you might have genuinely loved my best friend. “Obviously this non-interest in wedding receptions and engagements is something you and Melanie share.” He slid a big hand into his coat pocket and pulled out his cell phone. His gaze dropped, leaving behind the memory of halcyon, blue misery. He tapped on the screen as if proving the conversation they were having was of minimal import. But she’d seen. For the first time, she’d seen beneath his surface perfection. She’d glimpsed the reality of him. She had to give him something. “I cared enough to wear this dress.” As olive branches went, it was puny, yet it was something. His wide mouth twisted in a wry smile. The something wasn’t enough. A solid plank of guilt hit her between the eyes.

His observation was true. She hadn’t asked about their engagement party during the last three weeks. She’d promised to appear and here she was. That was going to be the extent of her involvement she’d assured herself when she thought about the event at all. She’d thrown that fact at this man often. He’d always given her back a jaunty grin. Sophie realized, though, with an abrupt smack, that focusing on egging this man on would no longer work. Not tonight and not after what she just saw in his eyes. Sarcastic throwaways and nasty jabs in front of both their families and friends wouldn’t be right. During the few business events she’d gone to with Mr. Perfect, she’d batted her eyes and smiled, and then the conversation had turned to business. Tonight, however, tonight she was going to have to do more than grin. Tonight she’d have to pretend to like and love this man sitting beside her. Tonight she was going to have to talk and laugh with all the people who knew her and loved her. Who knew him and loved him. People who were important. To both of them. “I can’t do this. Attend this party.” A sudden shiver of fear swept down her spine. Not only would she have to see Alexander Stravoudas interacting with Melanie and Jack, but she’d also be under the eagle-eyed gaze of Jade and Sam. Not to mention her mom and dad. Plus, aunts, uncles, cousins and coworkers. And his family. The shivers turned into quakes.

“Yes, you can.” The confidence in his tone startled her enough to peer at him. He stared right back at her, his eyes clear and direct. The turquoise blue shone with certainty. He honestly thought she could carry this off. A surge of borrowed confidence ran through her. “You’re right. I can.” He smiled. For the first time in months, he gave her one of his real smiles. A smile that when given, lit other people’s faces with their own answering smiles. “Say that again.” “Huh?” She clung to the task of keeping the answering smile edging along her mouth from appearing. “You said, I’m right.” His smile widened. “I want to hear that again.” The answering smile wanted very much to turn into a laugh. Before she let it out and gave him a win, she swung her head around to stare through the window at Irving Hall. “Why aren’t we going in?” “My mother is going to call me when everyone else has arrived.” She felt him move on the seat as he stretched his long legs out. “She wants us to make an entrance.” An entrance. Of course. The laugh and the smile and the guilt disappeared with one arrogant stroke. She had the distinct impression she was not going to like his mother and she was not going to like his sisters. Not if they were as arrogant as he was. And why wouldn’t they be? Throwing him an annoyed glance over her shoulder, she caught another of those looks. His swift glance back, quickly cut off by a sweep of golden-tipped eyelashes. A flash of blue, a hint of trouble—every look during the last hour had made her insides tremble.

Sophie Feuer? Tremble? She huffed under her breath. “What?” he echoed again. “Stop looking at me.” He paused and then a rumble of laughter filled the air between them. “Sophia. I’m going to be looking at you throughout this evening—” “Not that way.” She regretted the words as soon as they spit from her mouth. Because they revealed something about what was rolling around inside her. “That way?” She forced herself to glance across the seat and meet his guileless, blue eyes. Oh, the man knew. He knew way too much. “I put on the dress, okay? You should be satisfied.” “Interesting choice of words.” His murmur made her flush and although it was night and the limo was dark, the street lights might give her away. She turned back to stare at the brass doors, her insides fluttering in a wild, crazy dance that made her mind spin. What was wrong with her? The low trill of his phone jingled from his pocket. “Maman?” Sophie’s hands tightened. The click of the phone call ending was the only sound in the silence of the limo. She felt like she teetered on the head of a pin, wobbling one way and then another. Trying to keep her balance, trying to stay true to her beliefs about him and this situation, trying to be the one who was right.

“Time to go.” He leaned forward and knocked on the glass pane separating them from the driver. The man glanced back, nodded, and opened the door. “Oh, for goodness sake,” she muttered. “I can open the—” “Don’t.” His command stopped her hand from clicking on the handle. His glare met her own. “Not this time, Sophia. This time we arrive together.” She wanted to yell at him, but she knew getting into a temper right before marching into this party was not a smart tactical move. She was going to have to pretend she not only liked this man, she loved him. A sigh went through her. She should have taken those theater classes in college instead of accounting. “Good girl.” All the guilt and unwilling compassion inside zipped out of her as fast as a soufflé collapsed. How she wanted to smash her fist into his face just once. Maybe twice. Swinging her head around, she met another one of those looks. Those strange looks. His look choked back the angry words in her throat. The door opened and a cold November wind whipped into the interior, cooling the heat and anger inside her. The driver eased the door open, and she took the opportunity to escape from Mr. Perfect’s insufferable gaze and irritating arrogance. She couldn’t escape, though. Not him, nor the situation. He strode around the limo and stood at her side right in front of Irving Hall. Even with her favorite Jimmy Choo high heels on, her head barely reached his shoulders. “Shall we?” Alexander the Great waved her forward.

At the entry, the doorman, decked out in a long formal coat, smiled. He pulled the handle open, swinging the elaborately scrolled doors wide to a marbled foyer. “Mr. Stravoudas.” A tuxedoed host paced down the marble stairs. “If you would come this way, I’ll take your coats.” He ushered them up an elegant staircase to the coat check. The sounds of a large crowd—laughing, chatting, glasses clinking—filled the small enclave where they stood. She suddenly remembered what she wore underneath her navy-blue coat. The dress. She hadn’t glanced at herself in the mirror after she’d put it on. Making sure her makeup and hair were already done, she’d slipped on the gown at the last moment. Her big boobs, boobs she’d ignored ever since her teenage humiliation, were stuffed into the tight bodice. Ignoring the grip of the gown’s waistline, she had slipped on her shoes and sailed through the door before any second thoughts arose to object. “Miss?” The host held out his hands. “May I take your coat?” What was her mother going to think? She’d catch one look of her daughter and know something important had happened. Sophie hadn’t worn tight clothing since she’d been seventeen. Her mother knew it and knew the reason. What were Melanie and Jade and Sam going to say? They knew their friend didn’t primp. They’d known she didn’t like to call attention to her body. They didn’t know why, but they knew how she felt about clothes. Clothes should be loose. Practical. Concealing.

Not silky. Tight. Provocative. “Sophia.” Alex’s broad hands slipped across her shoulders from behind, heavy and warm. “Come on, krotída mou.” The foreign words stopped her frantic thoughts. “What did you call me?” “Let me take your coat.” He ignored her question. Stepping in front of her, he started on her buttons. “I can do it myself.” She batted his hands away, noticing how tiny and ineffectual hers were in comparison to his. The coat came off. She felt nude standing before him. She glanced up to meet his turquoise gaze. He had the exact same expression on his face he’d had when she first marched out of her bedroom. An expression she could define only by what it was not. Not condemning. Not critical. Not approving. Not patronizing. Not. Not. Not. Not. She wanted to take him by the shoulders and shake his true reaction from him. What did he genuinely think of this dress on her? What did he really think of her breasts pushing out of the top of the bodice? Why did she desperately care what he thought?

The realization that she did care, a lot, sank into her with a devastating punch. She, Sophia Feuer, TV personality, baker to dozens of fine restaurants, a woman with her own business, cared what this man thought. “Shall we?” He gestured to the entrance to the ball, oblivious to the fact that exactly like all the other women in the world, Sophia Feuer had fallen under Alexander the Great’s spell.


Chapter Eight

Sophie stepped into magic. She’d seen a lot of fancy restaurants. Tons of expensive weddings. Her career as a pastry chef had exposed her to the best of the best in entertaining. She’d seen this hall in its glory too. Or so she’d thought. This time, Irving Hall took her breath and tied it into a knot. The oval room, with its seven-story ceiling, was filled with dainty circular tables draped in cream. Tall, white candles blazed over the crystal wine glasses and gold-edged china. Each table sported a centerpiece, an elongated glass sphere loaded with sparkling golden orbs. “That’s the theme, I’ve been told.” “What?” She pulled her focus away from the magic and light and prettiness to stare at her fake fiancé. “This is our golden ball, according to my mother and sisters.” His mouth held an ironic twist. “Everything has to have some gold. They wanted to make it special for us.”

She saw it now, the attention to every detail. The edging on the tablecloths was gold. The twisted bows on the napkins, gold. Even the waiters, circling the crowd with trays of champagne and wine, wore gold ties. “Nice.” “Admit it.” He chuckled. “If I hadn’t pointed it out, you wouldn’t have noticed.” True. She noticed things like spices and grades of butter, not party themes. She wasn’t going to admit this knowledge to Alexander the Great, though. If she did, then she’d also have to acknowledge the enormous amount of work his mother and sisters had done. Acknowledging that would give him more power over her conscience. “Okay.” He smiled at her, his blue eyes twinkling as usual. “Don’t admit it.” He knew already. Although she hadn’t conceded anything. She stopped the impulse to kick his long leg. They stood in the entryway, a shadow covering them, the shimmering lights of the party not quite touching their presence. Rather than focusing on him and his uncanny instincts, Sophie made herself appreciate the moment, the moment she could take it all in before the crowd descended on them. There were easily three hundred people circling the tables, laughing and chatting. Had he invited everyone he knew? Come to think of it, Alexander Stravoudas probably did know this amount of people and another thousand on top of that. The men were dressed in smart suits and tuxedos, the women sported silks and diamonds. Even her family looked their best. She spotted her Aunt Eileen, in her favorite red Ann Taylor dress, and Uncle Frank, in the navy suit he only wore to church. They

were standing by a table, looking at the place cards, along with Tamika and her boyfriend. Place cards. Decorations. A whole new menu. The realization hit once more. This ball had been a lot of work. Work she hadn’t spent any time helping with. Or even thinking about. A swift kick of additional guilt punched her. “Your mother and sisters—” “Were very happy the reservation didn’t go to waste.” He stuck one big hand into a pocket. “Irving Hall is booked months in advance and it’s my mother’s favorite place. She was glad she could make this happen for us.” Another kick. This one came with the recognition that this man standing next to her had read her mind. She didn’t like that. Not one little bit. “Did you tell them about what I’d—” “No.” He gave her a narrow glance. “They don’t know who ruined their initial plans.” The pride she’d felt at the Perfect Couple’s breakup twirled into a tight coil. This man’s family had spent a lot of time and effort for a wedding she’d quashed. Instead of being angry at the broken engagement, they’d pulled together to make something beautiful for their son and brother. In a few seconds, she had to face these women and pretend she’d had nothing to do with any of the mess. She glanced at her feet, at the high heels that always pinched her feet but she wore because they made her feel tall and important. She desperately wanted to click her heels together and disappear.

“Don’t look down, Sophia. Look up.” His voice held a mocking tone, making her spine straighten. No matter what happened tonight, she was going to keep her confidence intact. “Look up,” he said again. “You’ll like it.” How would he know what she liked? Yet her curiosity got the best of her. She looked up. Her gaze went to the gilded ceiling. Gold-leafed honeycombs swirled into the huge stained-glass circle at the center. Corinthian columns at the end of the hall’s oval soared, towering over the milling, laughing crowd. He was right. She did like it. A lot. The place made her feel like a princess, like magic was real and could change her whole life. Like this moment was filled with a promise she’d never hoped for, much less dreamed of. Like maybe this man standing beside her was really a fairytale prince instead of an irritating, arrogant jerk. “Mon fils.” The words, said in a rich, refined way, drew Sophie’s attention back to the hard, marble floor she stood on. Magic whispered away and reality slammed back into place. She teeter-tottered on her too-tall shoes. Pretending she was a princess wasn’t going to help her with the task at hand. Or help her keep her confidence in front of… His mother. This had to be his mother.

She was a tall woman. Like her son, she was also lean and polished. Frosted blond hair, lighter than his, was twisted into a classic chignon. She smiled, but the warm greeting wasn’t reflected in her blue gaze. “You’ve both arrived.” “Right at the moment you commanded.” Her fake fiancé stepped forward and gave his mother a kiss on each cheek. His mother’s focus didn’t waver from Sophie. “Introduce us, Alex.” He turned, his face bland, his eyes hard. The message was immediately clear; he expected her to handle this without his help. All the confidence he’d given her in the limo threatened to wither. “Sophia, this is my maman, Abelle Wattier Stravoudas.” “Hello.” A sudden impulse to curtsey, as if she were in front of royalty, raced through her. She stifled the notion. “And this, Maman, is Sophia.” The way he said it made it seem as if he were announcing an unwanted addition to the newest building he was designing. Why had Alexander the Great reverted to his usual, supercilious self? Why now, when he’d led her to think he believed in her only a short time ago? Her confidence wobbled once more. Rather like she did on her spiky Jimmy Choos. His mother gave him an intense look, and then something remarkable happened. She grinned. “Oh, ho,” she murmured, under her breath, so soft Sophie barely heard the sound. Turning to Sophie, she caught both her hands and leaned in to kiss both cheeks. The scent of lily of the valley engulfed her. The lemony-grass smell brought back memories

of her grandmother’s hugs and for some reason, she felt the tight nip of tears behind her eyes. “Bien jouer.” The elegant woman moved back to stare at her. “You have finally done what I never thought to see.” “Huh?” Crud. Could she be any crasser in front of this woman? Instead of crying about old memories, she should be crying about her idiocy. “You have caught him, ma petite.” Abelle Stravoudas beamed. “In the palm of your hand.” “Maman.” His powerful hand grabbed Sophie’s elbow and yanked her to his side. “Isn’t it time to greet our guests?” “Yes, yes.” The older woman laughed. “By all means, let’s ignore the obvious and greet your guests instead.” The inside of her head spun like an out-of-control top. She had no idea what had happened other than it had clearly not made her fake fiancé happy. The tense grip of his hand made her glance up to meet his gaze. Yep. Not happy. “Alex!” “Alex!” “Alex!” Three slim, svelte sylphs slid into the circle of family. Because surely these three women were family. Very leggy and blonde and beautiful. Three sets of identical blue eyes stared at Sophie. None of them smiled.

“Sophia, these are my sisters.” His hand slipped off her elbow to land on her hip. A simple tug and she found herself in the place she had wrenched herself from two weeks ago when she’d understood the danger. Now, this time, she stayed. With what she saw in front of her, it seemed safer to stay in his grip. “Aimee is the oldest.” His other muscular hand waved at the tallest diamond in the constellation of Stravoudas stars. “Then Valerie and Orlene.” None of them moved forward to greet her or kiss her or even kick her. She didn’t want to be kicked, yet at least it would cut through the tension and stop the glares. Because these were definitely glares. “Let me through.” A short, dark-haired woman pushed her way through the longlegged beauties and planted herself in front of Sophie. Her dark eyes flashed with frustration. “Why am I always the last?” “Because.” Alex sighed. “You’re the youngest.” This? This was one of his sisters? She was as short as Sophie herself, even though she was surely in her twenties. Her black hair and black brows matched her eyes. And unlike her sisters’ regal snouts, no one could claim her nose wasn’t distinctly…big. “This is Cecile.” Her brother reached across and patted her head. “But we all call her Ceci.” “Don’t do that.” His little sister swatted the big, brute hand away from her head. Exactly. She totally understood his sister’s point and grinned in spite of herself. “Yeah, Alexander.” The elongated vowels of his name reeked of sarcasm. “Don’t do that.”

The three diamond beauties straightened and three sets of blond eyebrows shot skyward. “Hmm…” one hummed. “Well,” another stated. “Now I see,” the last one breathed. “Oui, I knew you would as soon as you met Sophie.” His mother beckoned them all into the ballroom. “However, this is not the time to discuss the obvious, even though it is astonishing.” “Maman.” The grin he’d been giving to his little sister got wiped out by a frown. “I don’t know what you’re—” “It’s time for you and Sophia to greet your guests, Alexander.” Abelle Stravoudas smiled once more and then proceeded to lead the rest of his relatives, and them, into the open ballroom. With that, the floodgates opened. She found herself surrounded by a mix of family and friends and co-workers. Megan rushed over to meet Alex and Sophie feared her assistant might faint with awe before she got dragged away by her boyfriend. Christine, his reserved PA, gave her a real smile and a real hug for the first time. Jade bounded forward with Antony and slathered on a thousand compliments about both of them before Soph finally told her to hush. Plus, everyone loved her dress. Everyone. “Girlfriend.” Sam’s eyes opened wide. “Where did you get that gown?”

“How did you manage to find the perfect color?” Jade added. “Alex chose it, didn’t he?” Melanie, with her arm twined around Jack, strolled into the group. The conversation stopped. Perhaps Sophie’s heart did too. She glanced at her fake fiancé. Who was looking at his former fiancée as if she were an excellent addition to his latest masterpiece. “Hello, Melanie.” “Hello, yourself.” Her friend smiled, a pleasant smile Sophie couldn’t read. “Let me introduce you to Jack.” “Jack Spriggins.” Mel’s companion had an easy way about him and seemed oblivious to the tense atmosphere. He reached out his hand and eagerly pumped the big hand offered. “Glad to meet you.” “I can’t say—” “Jack is a high school teacher,” she burst in, cutting off what she knew Mr. Perfect was going to say. A putdown that shouldn’t be said if this ball were going to stay golden. “That’s why Mel and Jack get along so well.” “I see.” Irony mixed in Alexander’s two words, yet there was also… A slice of contemplation? Maybe? Her gaze rose to gauge his mood. His body was tense by her side, but when he met her look, his eyes were hazy. With contemplation. Definitely.

This was good, really good. The load of guilt she’d shouldered in the limo, and dragged behind her since they’d arrived, cracked. If he could see her best bud wasn’t for him, then he wouldn’t be as hurt, right? She gave him an encouraging grin. The caramel eyebrows arched and his mouth firmed. If the man would only focus. Look at the way Mel held onto Jack’s hand. Look at the adoring gaze Jack gave her back. Look at how Melanie needed someone tender and kind, not someone who was bold and strong. Her brain stuttered to a stop. He’s bold and strong, exactly like you. Jade’s words flittered around in her mind, a buzzing saw of memory. “You two are perfect together.” Melanie’s quiet voice filtered through Sophie’s thoughts. “You fit.” The lean arm around her tightened. Sophie kept her focus on his face, forcing her smile wider. She was not going to let him down here in front of his ex. She was not going to let him ruin his plan to prove this was the perfect match for him. Even if it wasn’t. She didn’t know why this had become important to her. Why it was suddenly allimportant to make sure his wounded pride got healed. But there it was. And here she was. Pushing herself to the tips of her toes, she whispered in his ear. “Smile, damn you.”

His mouth pinched at the first command, yet when she swore at him, it lit something deep in his eyes. Then he laughed. The move of his chest, as he took in a breath, made her notice the warmth of his body and the way she had unconsciously curved into his side. She immediately tried to pull away, which wasn’t smart in pursuit of her one goal at the moment, but it was instinctive. He saved the day by blocking her efforts with one large hand tightening on her hip. “No, no, Sophia,” he whispered, the light still gleaming in his eyes. “You’re not getting away from me.” “How romantic.” Melanie sighed in front of them. “I’m happy for both of you.” “Me too,” Jack chirped beside her. “Well, that’s settled.” Jade zoomed into the conversation, her white teeth blazing, her dark gaze sparkling. “What I want to know is when the dancing starts?” Dancing. With Alex Stravoudas. She sucked in her tummy and tried not to get in a tizzy. It wasn’t that she didn’t like to dance. She did. It was the fact that dancing with Mr. Perfect was not on her list of wonderful things to do. He was too tall. She was too short. They wouldn’t fit. “Knowing my mother, dancing will come after dinner.” Alexander swung his gaze away from staring at her face and she took in a deep breath of something almost like relief. Which made no sense.

“Sophie!” Her mother’s cry rose above the crowd surrounding them. A round, pudgy hand slipped in between Jade and her man, Antony, and pushed. Margaret Feuer appeared in front of them, her husband lumbering behind her. A flurry of hugs and kisses commenced, reminding Sophie how much she missed them. “I’m glad to see you both,” she admitted, although the situation wasn’t optimal. Her father patted her cheek. “We got busy exploring this incredible place and didn’t realize you’d arrived.” Her mother’s beaming smile took in her daughter and then her attention switched to the man by her side. “My, my.” Her hands went to her plump cheeks. “Aren’t you beautiful.” Alex laughed again. Sophie frowned. Erich Feuer thrust out a hand. “Glad to finally meet you.” Her fake fiancé reached his own hand out to grab her father’s. Noticing how small her father’s hand was in comparison to Alex’s, her frown deepened. She’d always thought her dad’s hands were the best part of him. As a kid, she’d been in awe of what his hands made every day. She’d watch him roll out the dough, watched him knead his bread, watched him as he gently pulled the loaves from the oven. Her dad’s hand had always held hers when they took a walk in Central Park. His hand had patted her cheek when she’d received her diploma. And his hands had nailed the Pure Pastry sign outside her business’s front door.

Her dad’s hand appeared small cupped in Alexander the Great’s mighty grip. “Good to meet both of you.” The charm oozed from Mr. Perfect. “Sophia’s told me quite a bit about both of you.” Could she snort? Was that allowed at your own engagement party when your fake fiancé charmed your parents with a complete lie? “No, no.” Her mother brushed Alexander’s hand away. “I need a hug.” This farce was getting out of control. “Mom, really—” “Let her have her fun with your young man.” Her dad snatched Sophie into his arms once more and gave her another big hug. “You look wonderful, Princess.” His compliment made her remember the dress. Had he noticed? A streak of apprehension ran through her. “Daddy.” He drew back yet kept his hands on her shoulders. “We’re sorry we couldn’t get here before this afternoon.” “I couldn’t shake that pesky flu,” her mother piped in from Alex’s arms. “I didn’t want to give it to both of you.” “But we’re here for your big ball and next week is Thanksgiving. Can’t wait for some of your aunt’s stuffing.” Her father smiled, his jowls creasing, his shaggy brows arching over brown eyes. “Then we’ll stick around to help at your bakery while you’re in Paris.” “Dad, you don’t have to—” “Now, now.” He waved her objection away. “I’ve talked about this with Tamika and she says they need the help.”

She would feel better about having more hands on deck while she spent a week in Paris. Besides, her dad knew the business. “Okay. Well, that’s great.” Her dad’s attention, however, had been distracted. His hands tightened on her bare shoulders. Erich Feuer’s eyes went wide as he took in her gown. “Sophie.” “My goodness. I didn’t notice because of your Alex.” Her mom rushed over to gaze at her in astonishment. “Your dress.” She fought the blush threatening to turn her into a tomato. She fought the selfconsciousness about her body she’d carried around since the age of seventeen. And she fought her impulse to run and hide. “It’s only a dress.” “Sophie.” Her mom grabbed her hands, sudden tears on her cheeks. “I know it’s so much more.” “You are lovely, Princess.” Her dad’s eyes were rimmed with red. “I’m proud of you.” The fake fiancé didn’t miss anything. His perceptive gaze switched from one parent to another. “Is there a problem?” “She hasn’t confided in you?” A look of determination crossed her mother’s face as if she’d found a new mission: tell the fiancé everything about her daughter. Abject horror filled every inch of Sophie’s soul. She glanced around, frantic to find some diversion, but the rest of the crowd had moved back, respecting the reunion. “Mom —” “That awful teenage boy.” Margaret Feuer shook her head. “Disgusting what he did to —”

“Mom.” Habit brought her arms around to fold in front of her breasts. “There wasn’t anything—” “He hurt my little girl,” her father chimed in. “However, it looks like all is well now since my daughter is confident enough to wear this dress.” “A dress I chose for her,” Alexander mused. “Seriously?” her mom beamed. “And she agreed?” “You chose this?” Instant rage swept away her embarrassment. “You told me—” “I believe it’s time for dinner.” Her lying fake fiancé smiled at the surrounding crowd. “Better find our seats.” What he said was true, the waiters were bringing out platters of food and placing them on long tables lined along the polished granite walls. Clutching her elbow, her deceitful dictator made for the center table. “You have some explaining to do.” She wrenched her arm from his grasp and stomped ahead of him. “You do, too.” His words drifted from behind. “I sense a tragic story.” “One you’ll never hear,” she muttered under her breath. The center table was larger than the rest. His mother and sisters were already seated along with what must be husbands and children. There were four empty chairs, two of which had placement cards with her parents’ names scrolled across them. The last two seats held two sparkly gold crowns. “Because you’re the princess and prince of the ball.” A tiny, blonde girl blurted out as she leaned on one of the Stravoudas stars.

Her mother smoothed a hand across the child’s head and smiled. “Come on, Alex,” she teased. “Be a prince.” He laughed and scooped up a crown. Hers. “Let me do the honors.” “This is ridic—” “Don’t disappoint the children.” He stuck the crown into her curls. “Your turn! Your turn!” crowed the little girl. Laughing again, he placed the crown on the top of his head. Then he glanced at Sophie and smiled. The smile was wide and real and warm. A shock of painful delight rocketed through her blasting away some of her anger at his deception with the dress. “Uncle Alex.” A small boy, with a fluff of white hair, bounded forward. His grin included several large gaps where teeth had once been. “Mom told me you’re still getting hitched.” “Yes, George.” He bent down to ruffle the boy’s hair. “To a different girl, though.” The boy turned and eyed Sophie. “Are you it?” She stifled a laugh and grinned instead. This wasn’t the time to rip into Alexander the Liar so she might as well enjoy herself. “I’m it.” The little boy stared at her hard. Another Stravoudas inspection. She made a face at him. The kid giggled. “You’re funny.” “Funny?” Mr. Perfect murmured beside her. “Sophia Feuer? Funny?” Before she thought it through, she swung around and stuck her tongue out at him.

Alex Stravoudas gazed at her with…fascination. Plus, something else. “Don’t give me ideas.” Sophie sucked her tongue back in her mouth with a snap. Philip guffawed. “Mom, did you see—” “Yes, I saw.” One of the leggy sisters slanted a smile Sophie’s way and then waved at her son. “Come and sit down now. Time to eat.” She reached for her chair, but before she could grab it, Alexander’s big hand was there. “Allow me.” His tone was filled with snark. Sophie glanced over to meet a gaze still edged with the lingering something she didn’t want to define. “I’m able to—” “I’m your fiancé.” The blue eyes went steely. “And a gentleman.” What was it with this guy? Shoes in a specific place. Clothes in a certain way. Doors opened by particular people. “I can do this myself.” “That’s not the point.” He pulled the black-and-gold chair out as his mouth firmed. “Please sit.” Her mother and father walked to their chairs and both of them gave her a look. A look she’d received many times in childhood: Behave. She plopped onto the red-cushioned seat with a disgruntled snort. A whisper of a hot finger slid along her neck, down her spine. From the nape of her hair to the edge of her dress. Shock tightened her muscles as a riot of goose bumps flared along its wake. She couldn’t stop her shivered reaction. “Cold, Sophia?” The finger slid back up her spine.

What was he doing? She tried to focus on the china and silver in front of her, but the touch, the heated stroke, burned her brain. He wasn’t touching her with want or need. No, he wasn’t. His breath brushed her ear. “I want to hear your tragic story.” No, he didn’t. “Then I want you to stick your tongue out again.” The heat of a blush bloomed under her skin. He couldn’t possibly mean what her wild imagination evoked in a split second. No, he couldn’t. She sensed him, moving behind her. The chair beside her was pulled out and he sat, turning to respond to one of his sisters. Sophie sighed with relief. A series of courses flew by. Crab cakes, the breading light and flaky. Chicken Française over noodles, the lemon and garlic sauce rich with egg and butter. And finally, lemon crème brûlée with a garnish of chocolate-dipped strawberries. She choked down enough to keep everyone off her case. Except for him. “Are you sick?” he murmured after her breast of chicken had sat on its noodles untouched for several minutes. “I’m fine.” “Usually, you gobble down every dinner I serve you.”

A flush of mortification threatened to explode across her cheeks. She never blushed anymore. Not since she’d left her teenage years behind. Anger rushed back at the realization. “I never asked you to feed me.” “That wasn’t my point.” He twirled a fork in his noodles. “What I’m saying is you aren’t a girl to ignore her food.” Echoes of the past banged inside her head. The fat girl. A cow. Her udders. “I’m sorry.” Her head swiveled and before she could stop herself, she found her gaze latched onto his. “What?” “Your face.” His eyes narrowed. “I could tell by your expression that whatever I said upset you.” “No, not at all.” She looked away, smoothing her hand across the purple silk of her dress. “That’s why I apologized.” She glanced back at him. “I meant it.” His eyes were intense and focused. “Believe it.” Something stuttered inside. Part heart, part confidence. He meant it. She could tell. And the fact, added to the warm grin he’d recently given her, shook her deep inside. She tore her gaze from his and stared at the uneaten strawberry.

A clink of a spoon on a crystal glass broke the concentrated air between them. She shot a look up and met Ceci’s gleaming smile on the other side of the table. His sister’s spoon clinked once more. Another spoon joined the noise. Then another. Soon there was a chorus of clinking crystal pings circling the hall. Sophie knew exactly what this meant and she wanted nothing to do with it. She wanted to say heck, no. Instead, she pretended to ignore the whole thing. She bit into the strawberry. “Sophia.” His voice came close to her ear and was filled with humor. “Don’t pretend. You know what they want.” She sucked on the berry. “Kiss! Kiss!” Ceci started the chant, but soon the entire crowd joined in. A low chuckle came from her side. “We’re going to have to do this.” She chewed slowly. “Come on.” His big hand gripped her elbow and pulled her from the chair. He turned her until she found herself staring at the shiny silver tie he wore. “Hey.” A long finger traced along her neck and then nudged her chin higher. She swallowed and looked at him. His wide mouth smiled. His blue eyes gleamed. His hand grazed her jaw, landing on the back of her neck. “Kiss me, Sophia.”


Chapter Nine

He could not get the kiss out of his head. Along with other things he didn’t want to think about. Alex flipped the hydraulic switch and eased back in the co-pilot chair. His pilot, George, who’d been flying Henry and Alex around since their first overseas architectural project, glanced over. “What?” he said with irritation. The glance hadn’t been the first shot his way since they’d taken off from LaGuardia four hours ago. The pilot tapped one of the myriad switches on the panel. “I don’t usually get the pleasure of your company for such a long stretch.” He flicked a piece of lint off his wool pants. “Piloting is a stress relief.” “You’re saying you’re more stressed than usual?” George focused on the LCD screen in front of him as if the question were a mere throwaway. But he knew better. George had become a good friend during the long hours of travel in the past ten years. He knew him better than most. “Nothing to worry about.”

Another glance. “Whatever you say.” A sudden burst of laughter floated in from the cabin. Alex immediately picked out Sophia’s chortle among the half dozen other voices. The kiss, a kiss that had happened more than a week ago, flew right back into the center of his brain. He leaned forward and focused on the screen in front of him. “Our altitude is a bit low.” “I’m assuming you can fix that yourself.” Alex sent the pilot a sullen glance before grabbing the thrust lever. None of this activity did any good at smothering his errant thoughts. The memory of how her brown eyes had narrowed at his command to kiss him. The surprise he’d felt when she’d suddenly tugged on his tie to pull his lips to hers. The touch of her tiny bow mouth as it first met his. He wasn’t spending all this time in the cockpit only because he needed to think about the next big architectural deal before they landed in Paris. No, the biggest reason was…he was hiding. Hiding from her and that mouth. The mouth he no longer looked at with dread, waiting for her to snap some feisty putdown. Now, since that kiss a week ago, he’d found it impossible to keep his gaze off her lips, anticipating what it would be like to kiss her once more. After her reaction to their kiss, the likelihood of that happening anytime soon was slim to none. Because of this realization, he’d spent the last week at work putting in eighteen hours a day. He’d

excused his fake fiancée from his family’s Thanksgiving event all together and managed to limit his visit to her aunt’s house to a mere hour on the holiday. Arranging separate rides to the airport today, he had promptly walked into the cockpit for the flight to Paris. “Looks like you’ve adjusted the altitude.” Alex turned to meet George’s gaze. “Yeah.” “Want to talk about it?” The pilot’s eyes were keen. Another flare of laughter erupted from behind them. “Nothing to talk about.” George swung back to his screen, his mouth twisted in a wry smile. There had been a lot of laughter for the last four hours. Something that rarely happened on their flights. Generally, he and Henry would be hunched over the large center table going through final numbers, final plans, final drafts, while their PAs frantically typed and the flight crew filled coffee cup after coffee cup. The laughter came again. “Seems to be a happy group this time around,” George observed. He grunted. “Which may explain why you are here and they are out there.” Alex didn’t respond. Instead, he stared into the black night. They’d be landing in Paris in four hours and the sudden stark recognition of this made his head throb. He’d avoided thinking about this deal during the last month. What it meant for his future. What it meant for the next three years of his life. In its place, he’d focused on his anger at Sophia Feuer and how many times he could rile her every time they saw each other.

But now it hit him. Three years of his life. He’d be forty before this skyscraper would be completed. “She’s a sparkler, that’s for sure.” “A what?” He wrenched his head around to stare at the pilot. “Your new girl.” George kept his eyes on the LCD. “A sparkler?” “It’s a saying of my dad’s.” His friend gave him a grin. “Means she’s full of life.” The nickname that had slipped from his mouth at their golden ball came back to him. Krotída mou. His dad hadn’t taught his kids much of his native tongue, yet he had taught them the word they’d used every Fourth of July. His dad said it was a way of bringing his old homeland into the celebration of his new one. Krotída. Firecracker. How appropriate for a woman who’d blown up his engagement. What bothered him about the nickname, though, was not the accuracy of the tag, it was what had slipped out of his mouth after it. Mou. My. His firecracker? God forbid. “Can’t say she’s much like your first one.” “What does that mean?” Knee-jerk hostility flared.

“Don’t get on your high horse.” George’s tone stayed mild. “I only meant the first one wasn’t right for you.” The memory of Melanie at the ball—her graceful arm weaved around her new guy’s burly bicep, her dazzling face as dazzling as he remembered, her voice as gracious as ever—the memory coursed through him and left in its wake… Nothing. Nothing but a vague fondness and the awareness his pilot was right. Along with somebody else. Melanie and you aren’t right together. In fact, you’re very, very wrong. Sophia’s face floated into his memory, replacing his ex-fiancée’s. Her little round face had been scrunched in a scowl when she’d spat those words at him right before slamming the engagement ring on his office desk. He’d been filled with a rage so pure and strong he’d thought he’d never release it or let it go. She had been right. The realization stung and contrarily, it managed to stoke his rage at her even more. “She was prettier than this new one.” The pilot grabbed his ever-present Coke can. He took a slug before continuing. “This one, though, has more…” “More what?” Alex couldn’t understand why he was tolerating this conversation. He and George didn’t normally spend any time on personal discussions, yet for some stupid reason, he couldn’t let this one stop. “She’s got more moxie, more zest.” The other man frowned in concentration. “She fits you better.”

He snorted. “No, really.” George put his drink down and went back to staring at the LCD screen. “I know you, Stravoudas. You’d have rolled right over the last one.” “You’re starting to sound like some TV psychologist.” “Maybe.” His friend gave him another glance. “I will tell you I took one look at your new gal and saw that she’s no rollover.” “Enough of the observations.” George chuckled softly. But he obeyed the dictate and silence descended, broken only by the whistle of the wind and burr of the airplane engine. His friend’s observation was true, though. Sophia hadn’t rolled over in front of his mother and sisters. He still didn’t understand how it had happened. How his aloof mother had abruptly started to mouth absurdities like catching him and holding him in the palm of her hand. How Ceci had been delighted with his new choice and let him know it. How his other sisters had pronounced his fake fiancée perfect for him. He didn’t get how a plump, stubby woman could capture his family’s interest and captivate them within one evening. Even though she had stuck her tongue out at him, much to his family’s stunned delight. That tongue. That tongue had been a surprise to him too. Not because she stuck it out at him in defiance. He expected that from her. The surprise had come when she stuck it into his mouth. The cockpit door opened. “Alex.” He glanced over his shoulder and met his PA, Christine’s, gaze. “What?”

“It’s time to eat.” She waved behind her into the cabin, the bubble of voices babbling about some new movie they’d all seen growing louder. “Plus, Henry keeps making noises about working.” The final bid on the skyscraper. Three years of his life. “Although, for Henry, the demands are rather mild.” Christine smiled, an ironic curve to her mouth. “Sophie’s so much fun, she distracts him.” She’d also distracted Alex a week ago. With her tongue. “George?” His PA turned to the pilot. “Do you want me to call the co-pilot in so you can eat with us?” “Nah.” His friend took another swig of Coke. “I’m good for now.” Another gust of laughter broke through the conversation. Alex heard Sophie’s voice pipe in, though he couldn’t make out what she said. Whatever she said, the reply was another outbreak of merriment. He didn’t feel like laughing. He didn’t feel like nailing down the final details of the deal. And he especially didn’t feel like staring at Sophia’s mouth. He forced a smile. “I’m good right now, too—” “No, you don’t.” Christine reached across and tugged on his arm. “Time to join the group.” “Go on,” George chimed in. “I’ve had enough of your grouchy company for this trip.”

“Grouchy?” His PA’s eyebrows rose. “Why are you grouchy?” “I’m not grouchy.” “Prove it.” His pilot gestured towards the cabin. “Fine.” He didn’t have to hide from her. Or the deal. Everything was fine. He could handle Sophia Feuer and this new deal just as he handled all the details in his life. He stood, ducking his head as he stepped into the cabin. “He lives,” Henry crowed. “I was beginning to think you had missed the flight,” Henry’s PA, Andrea, stated with a sly grin. The smile on Sophia’s face fell off as soon as she turned to look at him. The reaction instantly swamped all his good intentions about ignoring her and focusing on the deal. Instead, the somnolent rage inside blasted to life. “My fiancée knows how to entertain, though, doesn’t she? She certainly makes me laugh.” The edge in his voice, the casual scorn he used only with this woman, caused every other smile in the group of six to disappear in a split second. Everyone went silent. Sophia’s eyes narrowed. Her brown hair was pulled into her usual tight ponytail and she wore a pair of ragged jeans and a baggy yellow T-shirt that turned her skin sallow. She’d come directly from her bakery to the airport for their three p.m. flight and it showed. She was a catastrophe. In so many ways. Familiar irritation welled, twining around the rage.

She was an embarrassment sitting there. It was an embarrassment that she’d been accepted as his fiancée. How could his colleagues and staff believe he’d be with her? “I live to serve you and your court, your Highness.” She grinned, but her brown eyes were filled with hostility. The other five passengers laughed nervously. They all glanced back and forth between Alex and Sophia. Ready for the next shot, apparently. He didn’t disappoint. “If you live to serve then please promise me I won’t see that Tshirt any more in my lifetime.” She looked down and then up, her grin turning evil. “I plan on wearing it every day in Paris.” “Heaven help all of us.” His tone conveyed horror, yet he had to admit contradictory relief swam through him. She looked nothing like she had a week ago at their ball. No longer did he have to contend with how her natural lashes were extraordinarily long and lavish with a touch of mascara. Or how the dress had pushed her impressive breasts into prominence. Or how her waist had been tiny and the curve of her hip lush. When she’d marched from her bedroom ready for their engagement ball, her breasts bouncing, he’d managed to keep his tongue from rolling onto the floor. Still, he hadn’t stopped himself from teasing her in the limo or making suggestive comments at the party because he hadn’t realized the danger he’d been in. Even after he’d stupidly touched the delicate string of bumps on her spine, he’d thought he’d been merely playing a game to get a rise out of her.

Not until she’d pulled him into a kiss and he’d tasted her, tasted the flame and flare of her, had he realized he’d been playing with fire. Playing with a firecracker. “I know how much you care about clothing, Alexander.” Her tone implied he was something less than a man and the long drawn out vowels of his name made the rage beat inside his blood. “But I’m sure you’ll be way too busy charming your emir to care about what I’m wearing.” “True, very true.” Henry stepped into the fray. “It appears as if both of you need a bit of Paris magic to turn you back into the lovers I saw at your engagement party.” Lovers. With Sophia. The thought shot right into the center of him with a searing strike. The rapid string of images following the blow couldn’t be stopped. Sophia naked on his bed, her opulent breasts and lithe waist curving into rounded hips and plump thighs. Sophia pulling his body down onto hers, using that talented tongue to drive him insane. Sophia smoothing her tiny hands down and down to his rock-hard— “Who doesn’t love Alexander?” The long vowels of his name practically crawled across the room to bite him. “I know a prince when I see him.” She shot him an acid glare that stated in clear, cold detail, you are no prince. “And my fiancée will always be perfect in my eyes.” Perfectly awful, his gaze shot back. The silence following that statement was filled with doubt.

“Well,” Henry clapped his hands with a pasted smile on his face. “Let’s dig into the sandwiches and then you and me, Alex, have some work to do.” Work on the deal that tied him to three long years in an Arab desert making sure every detail he’d designed was constructed correctly. Three years. He yanked out a chair and sat down. They ate around the center table, Sophia and her camera man, Will, and producer, Jake, lined up on the cream couch, while Henry, Christine, and Andrea sat on the other side in plush chairs. Alex had chosen the head chair as was his custom. This time he regretted it because it put him right by his loving fake fiancée. Her silent presence beside him was a constant reminder of how rude he’d been to her in front of his staff and hers. He was never rude. Alex Stravoudas was a gentleman. Guilt lay like a hard stone inside his stomach as he stared at his uneaten sandwich. For all of Sophia’s faults, and there were so many he’d lost count, it didn’t excuse his rude remarks. Her nasty behavior didn’t excuse his constant heckling. And more than any other guilt loading him down, nothing she’d done deserved his reckless, arrogant insistence she wear what he chose to their golden ball. Not even ruining his engagement. It’s only a dress. I know it’s so much more.

He hurt my little girl. The memory of her horrified face, her blushing embarrassment, her instinctive move to cover herself from everyone looking at her: the images washed over him, sinking him into the pool of remorse he'd been fighting to keep out of for a week. “Are you sick?” She came closer, her voice oily with pretend concern, echoing his own jibe at her during their engagement party. He deserved the poke and prod after his snide comments. He knew that, but the fake inflection of interest in her words wound inside and flamed the rage. “I find it hard to eat when staring at that yellow monstrosity of a shirt.” “Then, don’t look.” She bit into her sandwich and he couldn’t help himself. He stared. Stared at the way her lips curved, how white her teeth were, how the skin on her cheeks was smooth and creamy. Even the sprinkle of her freckles now struck him as a charming addition rather than a nasty distraction. Trouble. You are in trouble. “Hey, Alex.” Henry finished off the last of his potato chips and pushed aside his plate. “Time to talk about business. We want to be totally prepared when we hit the ground in Paris.” From the corner of his eye, Alex saw Sophie’s mouth tighten in what appeared to be disgust. The fact he felt the same disgust stunned him. It must be some strange virus he’d caught from being around this woman for too many days. Because his professional life had always been about building the next big thing. And the skyscraper he’d designed for

the Arab desert was definitely going to be the next big thing. As soon as the emir saw the design, Alex had no doubt he’d sign on the dotted line. This building would rule the Arabian peninsula. This building would clinch his reputation as one of the best architects in the world. This building would take three years of his life. “Our plans are going to put the emir’s country on the map.” Henry grinned at him. “All we have to do is show him your design, Alex, and he’s going to know it’s what he wants.” Sophia stood abruptly. “Jake. Will. We’d better nail down our own schedule.” She waved to a circle of chairs in the back. “We’ll do it over there.” He had a sudden desire to say he needed to return to the cockpit, yet he squashed it. This was his work. This was his dream. “Let’s get going.” Two hours later, Henry was giddy with delight, Christine and Andrea were dead on their feet, and Alex wanted to keep flying. To anywhere else besides Paris. But he was here. And so was Sophia. “I’ll take a taxi to the hotel with Jake and Will.” Without even glancing at him, she swung a bulbous leather bag over one delicate shoulder and began to walk down the wide hall of Orly Airport. “Sophia.” He was tired, still, the usual irritation immediately coursed through his blood. She was always so damn independent. “You aren’t staying at the hotel with the others.”

“Huh?” She stopped and twirled around in her turquoise sneakers, her round face scrunched in a typical glower. “You and I are staying at my family’s apartment on Boulevard Saint-Germain.” Why he had thought that was a good idea when he’d made his plans, he couldn’t say. Maybe it had been Henry’s sly jab about spending some time with his new fiancée in the city of lovers. Or perhaps it was his maman’s disbelief when he’d mentioned staying in a plebeian hotel when her family’s luxurious apartment was available. However he’d come to this moment, it was a moment he very much regretted. “Your family has a place in Paris?” Her brown eyes went wide. “The place has been in my mother’s family for at least a hundred years.” “Right in the middle of Paris?” “Yes.” Impatience swirled around his irritation. “And that’s where we’re going to stay.” Sophia and he. Alone. Together. True, the apartment had three bedrooms, but the danger still lurked. Inside his brain. Inside his cock. He couldn’t believe he lusted after this female standing before him in her hideous yellow T-shirt and baggy jeans. Her face was creased from the nap she’d taken on the plane and not a stitch of makeup tried to pretty the picture. Yet. Yet…

Heat ran through his veins as he noticed the swell of her breasts pushing against the cotton and the rounded curves of her thighs filling her jeans. “Geez, Stravoudas.” The woman slapped a hand on one lush hip and pouted. “Why didn’t you tell me I was marrying into ancient aristocracy?” Alex’s jaw tightened at her jibe. “Would it have made you any sweeter?” “Doubtful.” She slipped her cell phone from her pocket and started to text. “What are you doing?” He shouldn’t feel outrage, but he did. No woman had never simply ignored him time after time like Sophia. “Relax, darling,” she drawled. “I’m letting Jake and Will know I’ve hit the jackpot and they can go ahead.” “Henry and Christine will let them know.” He jerked his suitcase to his side. “There’s a car waiting for us at the end of the terminal.” She glanced over to meet his fuming gaze. “Of course there is.” Her tone implied he should be labeled as some filthy aristocrat who had somehow escaped the guillotine. He’d never thought much of his wealth. His dad had been a poor immigrant when he’d landed in New York. He’d celebrated his success not for the money he earned, but for how it showed he’d accomplished what he’d set out to do. Alex looked at money and success in much the same way. Yet, evidently, his fake fiancée did not. “You have issues with my money?” “No.” She slid her phone back into her pocket. “I have issues with you.” Before he could blast her, his own phone buzzed in his jacket. Yanking it out, he glanced at the screen and grimaced. “Hey, Henry.”

“We did some great work on the plane, but there’s still more to do.” “I’ve been flying all night.” “It’s morning here.” His partner’s voice swelled with enthusiasm. “We’ve got today and tomorrow before the emir’s party arrives. We don’t have a minute to lose.” “I’m tired.” He glanced up to catch a strange look from Sophia. A speculative look tinged with pity. Pity? He graced her with his best fake smile and she gave him back another pout. “What’s with you?” Puzzlement drifted into his friend’s voice. “You’re never like this.” Three years of his life when he signed this deal. Three years. “Nothing’s wrong.” He slid a hand behind his aching neck and kneaded. “Something’s wrong.” An idea popped into his head. An idea that would solve his current problem with Henry and his bigger problem with Sophia. “I’m in Paris.” He smiled across at his female nemesis who was going to be pissed in a moment. “With my lovely fiancée.” She straightened and her mouth tightened. There was Sophia. Sharp as a tack and good at spotting a train coming down the track towards her. “True.” His partner humphed. “So you and Sophie are going to—” “She and I are going to go shopping for clothes.” She vibrated with instant fury and her little hands fisted at her sides.

He gave her one of his smiles as an answer. “Shopping.” Henry’s voice filled with horror. “You’d rather go shopping than work?” “To be with my beloved bride?” He made sure his voice oozed with pleasure. “I couldn’t think of anything better to do with my time.” His friend sighed. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess.” Alex clicked off his phone. “I’m not going shopping.” She pointed a stubby finger at her bulging, old suitcase. “I brought plenty of clothes.” Grabbing his own elegant Longchamp suitcase, he marched at a brisk clip towards the end of the terminal. He figured his long legs would eat the distance so fast Sophia would have a hard time keeping pace with him and mouthing off at the same time. She huffed behind him. Alex smiled again. This was perfect. She’d be so angry with him after this shopping spree, she’d spend all her time in Paris spouting off her insults. She’d aggravate him to the point where he wouldn’t be thinking about her pretty bow mouth or her abundant breasts. All he’d focus on was the fact she was a pain in the ass. The car awaiting them turned out to be a long, sleek limo. “Of course,” she muttered from behind him. “Get in,” he muttered back at her. As the door slammed shut, she launched her expected verbal assault. “I have plenty of clothes.”

He smoothed his hands down his wool-clad legs. “What dresses did you bring?” Punching her hands into the navy peacoat she’d stuffed herself into as soon as they’d hit the cold December air, she frowned. “I have a completely acceptable black dress.” “One dress.” “Yes.” “You didn’t even bring the dress I bought you.” “No.” She stared at him, her eyes blank. The terrible tenderness for her surged inside, much to his disgust. The feeling pushed into curiosity even against his will. “We never did get to discussing your tragic story.” “There is no tragic story.” He remembered the shimmer of happy tears in her mother’s eyes. The way her dad had clutched her delicate shoulders. The panic in Sophia’s voice. His instinct was to push, to keep asking. He wanted to know; he wanted to understand. He needed to— No. Wait. He pulled himself back from disaster. He didn’t need anything from this woman other than for her to be angry at him for the next week. Or rather, for the next couple of months. “Sophia.” He sighed and stifled his smile when she snarled at his condescending tone. “We are meeting one of the richest men in the world and his wife.” “Yeah?” She sounded like a truculent teenager. “Many times.” The thought of what that meant broke through for a moment, and he tightened his hand on his knee. But the current conversation, and the delight he always

experienced when prodding this woman into a snit, overcame the tension in a flash. “You are going to need more than one ugly dress.” “It’s not ugly.” “If your Freddie chose it for you, it is.” She huffed once more. Leaning forward, he gave directions to the driver in French and then sat back. “We’ll have something to eat first.” “I’m not hungry.” “You’re always hungry.” Was that a snarl or a huff? He couldn’t be sure. Either way, he was well on his way to complete success. By the time he was done with Sophia, she’d be as filled with rage and confusion as he was.


Chapter Ten

She should be angry at being forced to do his bidding once again. Sophie stared down at the gloriousness of a Paris breakfast. “Eat.” His command coming from across the antique wooden table threatened to destroy her focus. But not even Alexander the Great’s ability to drive her nuts could sway her. She needed to savor. This was no pancake. This was perfection. Inside the folds of wheat cake were thinly sliced red tomatoes and vivid green spinach. The egg and gruyère cheese still sizzled, sending a waft of rich scent to her nose. Breathing in, she closed her eyes and let her senses take over. She was in Paris. Paris. “It’s a crêpe.” He could be ignored, but not that statement.

“Honest? I had no idea,” she cooed in a sing-song voice. “I’m merely a poor, uneducated American.” He grimaced, then shrugged. Reaching over, he took the spoon out of the earthenware bowl and sprinkled buttermilk over his own breakfast. A breakfast competing for the title of most glorious. Round mushrooms and chunks of glistening bacon filled his buckwheat pancake. “It’s called a galette.” His voice oozed condescension. She glanced across the table to meet his bland gaze. She was in Paris, finally. This was true. Still, it appeared she was going to have to lug a not-needed, not-wanted guide around throughout her journey. Unless she put a stop to it right now. “I know. I don’t need an ongoing lecture—” “I loved them as a kid.” He took a sip of his espresso. “Maman made them every Saturday, but they were never as good as the ones we got in Paris.” An image of a long-legged kid, with ruffled blond curls and a wide grin, leapt into her head. She could imagine that boy wolfing down piles of food. Heck, even now, every time she ate with him, she’d noticed he had a huge appetite, even though none of it seemed to stick to his lean hips or flat stomach. Something rather like reluctant affection crawled into her heart. Her inevitable irritation with him drifted away, replaced by hunger. Hunger for food. Of course.

She sliced into one edge of gloriousness and slid it into her mouth. Closing her eyes, she hummed as the flavor of French butter, tart spinach, and creamy, nutty cheese warmed her mouth. An odd sound came from across the table. Was that a groan? Her eyes popped open to meet his. The mid-morning sunshine splashed in from the glass terrace doors, making his turquoise eyes gleam. The wash of green and blue blazed with…something. Sophie pulled her gaze back to the gloriousness before her. This is what she needed to focus on, not the gloriousness of a man’s eyes. “Good?” he offered, his voice low. “Yeah, good.” She stuffed another bite into her mouth before she said something stupid like: what did I just see in your eyes? The cafe he’d chosen wasn’t packed, but close. The chatter around them, the sound of clinking china and silverware, the noisy whir of the expresso machine, none of it could fill the growing silence between them. An uncomfortable silence. The realization struck her. For the first time in dealing with Alexander Stravoudas, she didn’t know what to say. Usually, the quips came easily, the putdowns spewed automatically, the snarls and huffs and yells never needed any prodding. She couldn’t think of a thing to say. Neither, it appeared, could he.

Sneaking a glance at him, she was startled to find him still staring at her. The usual ire she felt towards him sprang forward. “What are you looking at? Do I have something on my face?” “No.” He started as if coming out of a coma. Dark blond lashes immediately swept down, covering the turquoise, and she noticed how long they were. Indecently long for a man. This man should not have longer eyelashes than she did. Her ire rose even higher. “Then don’t stare at me. You’re being rude.” Mr. Perfect ignored her by digging into his breakfast. Was that an actual flush on his lean cheeks? Alexander Stravoudas? Blushing? The thought brought back the reluctant soft spot she’d developed for this guy without even realizing it was happening. Crud. She might even, occasionally, sometimes, perhaps like Mr. Perfect. Double crud. Her gaze dropped to his mouth as he sipped his espresso. His lips were indecent too. Lush and ripe. And warm. Very warm. The kiss slammed back into her memory like an airborne missile. She’d built a big, gigantic wall around that memory, but with one hit, the kiss came rolling back. He’d tasted so good, like the bouquet of a fine burgundy mixed with the bittersweet zing of a dark chocolate truffle. She vaguely remembered her anger as she tugged him down to her

level. There was also the hazy recollection of the scent of his skin, the warmth of his body, the touch of his hard hands on her waist. But all of those faded in comparison to the taste of him. Lost in that taste, she’d had to have more. So she’d done something incredibly stupid and stuck her tongue into his mouth. Mr. Perfect. Her tongue in Mr. Perfect’s mouth. And liking it. Triple crud. “Why are you blushing?” Sophie started in her chair. She needed to forget about that kiss. She was in Paris. Finally. That’s what she needed to remember. “It’s too warm in here.” A caramel brow rose. “We’re right by the window.” Instead of answering an unanswerable question, she swiped her espresso cup into her hands and sipped. For all her attempts at focusing on where she was, the kiss could not be forgotten and when added to this inexplicable affection welling inside her, it meant only one thing. She needed to stay mad. All the time. “Once we’re done here, we’ll start building a suitable wardrobe for you.” He had perfect timing. She’d give him that. “I have a suitable wardrobe already.” “No, you don’t.” He looked straight at her and any hint of the something she thought she’d seen earlier had vanished. In its place was his usual pomposity. “And I’m not arguing about this any longer.” “I don’t need—”

“Sophia.” He puffed out a gusty breath, as if he were dealing with a squalling child. “I brought your lease with me. Would you like to review certain provisions?” She scowled at him. “I guess that means no.” He placed his knife and fork slantwise on his empty plate. “Shall we go?” Did she have any choice? The brisk wind cut through her peacoat as she trundled beside him. The narrow, cobble-stoned streets of the Marais district made her think of medieval times. Intimate restaurants, glistening jewelry stores, boutique hotels, pastry shops brought her into the future. The combination made something zing in delirious pleasure inside her. She stuttered to a stop and peered into the nearest pastry shop. The elderly lady sliding a pan of cream-filled chouquettes into the display case smiled. Puffy vol-au-vents marched in a line like little doughy soldiers while buttery croissants curled into curvy clusters. “They call them boulangerie here.” Her trusty guide’s voice came from behind her. Sophie swung around to scowl at him again. “What?” He raised his big, brute hands in a questioning gesture. “I’m trying to be a good host.” “I don’t need you to follow me around and spout information. Especially about things I already know all about.” “Perhaps I want to.” His words went soft at the end and that something filled his eyes once more.

Now her brain stuttered to a stop. What did he mean? What was going on? This, this something could not be…something. Again, she couldn’t think of a thing to say to Alexander Stravoudas. A whisk of wind tore a strand of hair out of her ponytail and whipped it across her face. Before she could push it back, one of his hands slipped along her skin, chasing the lock, brushing a line of goose bumps in its wake. He was close. Too close. His turquoise eyes looked down at her, the long, blond lashes catching the sunlight. His broad shoulders blocked out the Paris street, blinding her to anything but him. Sophie couldn’t stop herself. She stared at his mouth. The memory of their kiss rolled over her determination to put it away forever. The memory of how he’d swirled his tongue in her mouth too: invading her, taking her, making her want him with a fierce need. She stepped back with an abrupt jerk. Exactly as she’d done at the golden ball. His hand dropped to his side. “Aren’t we on a mission to buy a bunch of clothes I don’t need?” she quipped, trying to find her way back to the intense dislike she’d had for this man. The edge of his mouth moved into a reluctant grin. “You do need clothes. A whole lot of them. You’ll see when we get there.” “Where is there?” Better to focus on clothes than kisses. He waved down the winding street. “Around the corner. Come on.”

A few minutes later, Sophie eyed the discreet shop. White Grecian pillars gave the place a look of permanence while the wispy lemon dress in the store front spoke of whimsical tendencies. A simple black-and-gold sign stated: Élodie. “The store’s name means foreign riches in French.” Her trusty guide grinned at her. “My maman and sisters shop here every time they come to Paris.” The memory of his stylish sisters and his intimidatingly chic mother made her shudder. She stared at the lemon dress. The thing looked really, really small. “Not that dress, Sophia.” The usual irritation surged, mixing with the old insecurities. “I know I can’t fit in to that tiny thing. You don’t have to point—” “Wait.” He sighed. “Why do you always take what I say and twist it around?” For some stupid reason, she felt a twinge of tears behind her eyes. “Hey.” His rough hand grabbed her elbow and swung her toward him. “Look at me.” She glared into his sun-spangled face. The light carved golden streaks across his lean cheeks, lit his blue eyes, warmed his brows and lashes to honey. “What I meant is that’s not the color for you, krotída mou.” The stupid nickname again. “What are you calling me?” His mouth took on a wry edge and then, he laughed. His head tipped back and his blond curls slid over his broad shoulders, glistening in the sunlight. His shiny perfection only highlighted her wretched incompatibility for what they were about to do. “Don’t laugh at me.” Her tone was prickly, and at the same time, wobbly.

His gaze snapped back to her and the laughter stopped. “I’d rather you laugh with me.” The stupid tears threatened once more. He looked nonplussed when she didn’t answer with a typical snappy comeback. “You’ll enjoy this. I promise.” She would not. “I hate clothes shopping.” His startled gaze went wide. “I just do. So there.” Insecurity wound through each word, making her sound foolish. “You’ll like this place.” He gave her an encouraging nod. Staring at him, she made a last ditch effort. “I don’t—” “Don’t start.” He paced to the glass-lined double doors and swung them open. Glancing over his shoulder, he gave her his smile. The real one. “Come on. Let’s enjoy ourselves.” *** The wary, fragile Sophia, who had the ability to yank his heart from his chest, had reappeared. “I thought we were all done.” Her little bow mouth drooped as if she’d been forced to do manual labor and couldn’t go on for one more minute. “Not quite.” Alex waved at the elegantly-clad attendant to choose the next item. The last item he’d picked out for her to try on. The red dress glowed like a ripe cherry. Interlocking golden chains clenched around the waist and a trail of ruby beads lined the edge of the long sleeves. The low-cut bodice

would cling to every one of her curves while the bell skirt cutting off at mid-thigh would highlight her extremely pretty legs. The dress screamed Sophia to him. All fire and blaze. All heat and zap. All Sophia. “I don’t think it will fit.” She peered at the bright red garment as the attendant held it out for inspection. Her round cheeks went pale instead of the rosy color they should be. His sisters and his mother would come running into the Paris apartment with rosy cheeks and big grins after one of their many shopping outings. Why was Sophia Feuer such a puzzle in every single way? “Try it on.” He kept his tone cordial and light. “I think it will fit.” “It’s not the right color.” Says the woman wearing the god-awful yellow T-shirt. He coughed. The attendant, who’d been remarkably patient since they’d entered the shop five hours ago, smiled. “The gown will fit, Mademoiselle. I know my clothes and we did take measurements when you first arrived.” That had been a touch-and-go moment. He’d even had to whisper lease in her ear before she submitted to being led away to the dressing room. Once that fight had been won, though, there’d been surprisingly little rebellion until now. She’d obediently pulled on a string of wool slacks that emphasized the length of her leg. He’d sat in the sleek leather chair provided and sipped on champagne as she’d marched out from the dressing

room in a variety of jewel-toned sweaters that complimented her shining brown eyes and red-tinged hair. “I’m not sure I like the gold belt.” “I noticed a very nice pair of gold high heels in the display by the door that will match the belt.” His words lit the attendant’s face into a smile. “Oui, Monsieur. Those would work well with this outfit.” She rushed away. Sophia’s bow mouth went flat and her eyes glared. “What?” he said, his hands raised. “You like shoes.” “I have plenty of shoes.” “But not Paris shoes, hmm? And not a pair of gold ones either.” The glare turned deadly. Why? He had no idea. His statements were factually correct. Every one of them. She loved shoes. There were no better shoes than Parisian shoes. And he’d noticed she’d noticed the golden heels as they’d walked into the shop hours ago. He straightened in his chair, ready for a firecracker blast, but before Sophia could respond, the attendant ran back into the anteroom they’d taken over. “Here. These will be ideal with the dress.” The stiletto heels were wrapped in spiraled lamé and the pointed toes gleamed with a subtle line of gemstones.

“Go on, krotída mou.” Alex watched her as she gazed with wary appreciation at the shimmering shoes. “You know you want to.” “Fine.” Exactly as she had in his bedroom the night of their golden ball, she grabbed the clothing and clomped back into the dressing room. “Well.” The attendant gave him a nervous smile. “I’m sure she’ll be pleased.” “Oui, I’m also sure.” She might be pleased. More likely, she would not. For some reason, Ms. Feuer did not like dresses. Any kind of dress. Why? The tragic story apparently. One that he became more and more intent on hearing, he reluctantly realized. As every beautiful gown had been brought out, every time, mutiny had crossed her face and he’d immediately wanted to know why. Much to his relief, he hadn’t had to mouth lease even once, yet the curiosity built inside him. Because after her usual scowl, the woman had taken each of the elegant Parisian dresses and stomped back to the dressing room without a word. No mutiny. No blast of furious words. No tiny fists clenched or pursed pink lips or snapping brown eyes. Perhaps the woman was finally getting a clue. Maybe it was as simple as that. He’d lived with four sisters. He’d grown up in a sea of chiffon and glitter and lipstick. In a world where the female, with all of her wonder and whirl, dominated. Alex

Stravoudas knew clothes as well as he knew architecture. As he’d proved to himself, and to her, every time she came pacing out of the dressing room. When she’d come out the first time, he’d been lucky to be sitting down. His reaction would have been hard to conceal. He loved Sophia in dresses. First had come the hand-crocheted cream dress, with its lovely geometric design and ribbed neckline that emphasized her delicate shoulders. Then the classic Parisian black dress. Yet this time the color was subtly altered by a rich touch of warmth making her skin gleam in the chandelier lights like pearl. He’d loved the teal halter-top with the layers of tulle puffing out from her tiny waist. His krotída mou had caught him looking at her amazing cleavage and had blushed a fiery red. He should have made some snarky comment at that point, should have taken the moment to poke her pride and spur her temper. Keep the anger going up and up until she became so vicious and nasty he’d have no interest in her. Instead, he’d kept his mouth shut. The tragic story must be told and along with that determination had come another. He’d abandoned all doubts. The moment he’d heard her hum as she took her first bite of her crêpe, the moment he’d groaned an instant response, at that moment, he’d known. He wanted to have sex with Sophia Feuer. And he was an idiot to fight the feeling.

No sex throughout his engagement, and the subsequent month he’d been busy stoking his anger at Sophia, certainly contributed to his need. If he wanted to fool himself, he could lay the blame entirely on that situation. But honesty prevailed. He’d never stared at Melanie as she ate and thought about making her hum in another way. He didn’t think about tearing off Sophia’s clothes only because they were atrocious. And he couldn’t imagine himself in bed with anyone other than his firecracker. For now. Because, obviously, this must be some odd kind of phase he was passing through. He normally didn’t ponder how a woman’s abundant breasts were going to fit into his hand or appreciate the visual of plump thighs spreading for him. However, it appeared his tastes had changed. For now. “Okay.” Her voice came low and rough. “I put it on.” Alex had known the dress was perfect for her. He hadn’t realized how perfect. The heels drew attention to the curves of her legs. His gaze trailed the curves from her calves to her dimpled knees to the beginning of the thighs currently starring in his pornography-laced thoughts. His cock roared approval while his brain twisted around a question. Why had this dress, of all the dresses, caused her to rebel? Why? Because it was completely perfect for her. Why couldn’t she see this?

“You’re beautiful, Sophia.” His words were simple and sincere. “Beautiful.” Her face turned white. “Don’t say that.” Alex stared as her mouth tightened and a sheen of tears filled her eyes. The tragic story was clearly more tragic than he’d imagined. This needed to be dealt with, and even though a month ago, he would have laughed at the idea, he now wanted to fix this for her. “Sophia—” “I don’t like the color red, okay?” Her hands fisted at her sides. “Sue me.” “Sophia—” “You like it? Fine. Buy it for all I care.” She whirled around and made for the dressing room. “I’m finished here.” The scrolled white door slammed shut. The attendant pasted on a smile. “I thought she looked magnifique.” “Oui, she did.” Alex pushed himself out of the chair and handed her his credit card. “We’ll take everything. Including the red dress.” A flash of delight crossed the attendant’s face. Her commission fee would be astronomical. “Wonderful.” He smiled and a flush of another kind of delight filled her cheeks. She was a pretty woman and in other circumstances, he’d be interested. The slam of the dressing room door came again. From the corner of his eye, he caught the nauseating clash of yellow on sallow skin. “I’m leaving,” Sophia huffed.

Why? The one-word question swirled around in his head to the point it made him dizzy. Why did this woman hold such fascination for him? At any other time, he’d have chosen this elegant, young lady with her blushing cheeks and charmed gaze instead of the grumpy, frumpy woman stalking past him. Not this time, though. Not right now. “If you would send the clothes to this address.” He slipped her a card while giving her the last gift of his smile. “Assurément.” The attendant gave him another dazzled gaze before processing the order. The front door slammed. “Clearly, I’m lagging behind.” Grabbing his credit card back, he slid on his coat and headed for the door. In the five hours they’d spent at Élodie the sunlight had turned sullen, with dark and heavy clouds threatening rain. A light drizzle began, but he wanted to show Sophia one more place before they went to the family apartment. A place that she, hopefully, enjoyed a bit more than the apparent torture of this afternoon. Alex shook his head at the inexplicability of the female marching a block in front of him. Any other woman of his acquaintance would have been swooning in his arms after spending half a day buying Parisian clothes he was going to pay for. Any other woman but— “Sophia.”

His call only made her stubby legs move faster. Alex sighed into the collar of his coat at her stubbornness. Since she was heading toward Rue de Bretagne, though, right where he wanted to go, he figured he’d let her cool off before demanding she stop where he needed her to stop. The drizzle turned to rain. Her long ponytail bopped, the dark brown turning to black. The end of the navy blue peacoat hid her butt, yet he still saw the muscles moving beneath the wool. His imagination heated: her lush, pink ass in his hands, the arch of her back, delicate and creamy, the length of her hair streaming across her shoulders, her round face pressed into a pillow. Her low hum as he smoothed his fingers between her cheeks. The image was unusually vivid, so picture perfect clear, his cock rose in instant response. Hard, hot, completely engorged. Alex Stravoudas. Walking along a cold, rainy Paris street. Fully erect. There had never been once, in his entire life, even as a horny teenager, never once had he become fully erect suddenly, for no apparent reason. A laugh erupted from him. The tiny figure stomping in front of him stopped and turned. Her scowl scrunched her face, an unpainted face. Her hair looked like she’d run a comb through it sometime last month. The corner of the ugly yellow shirt peeked out of the coat. His cock impossibly hardened further. Alex laughed once more.

“Why are you laughing at me?” His firecracker’s scowl turned fierce. “I’m not laughing at you.” He chuckled in rueful acknowledgment of what had just occurred to him. “I’m laughing at myself.” Her dark brows frowned in apparent confusion. “Huh?” Never, in his entire life, had he suffered a moment of concern about whether a woman wanted to go to bed with him or not. They always did. He had money, could charm, and had passable looks. So he’d never had an issue. He did now. If he told Sophia what he was thinking, she would label him an arrogant asshole. But even if he never told her what he thought, he’d still have a problem. His cock wanted her. Alex Stravoudas, amazingly, wanted her. However, he’d make a large wager that if he proposed bed to Ms. Feuer she’d whack him on the side of his head. Then she’d march off in a huff, leaving his previous confidence with women and sex lying in the dust. Another piece of his life his krotída mou had blown up. 


Chapter Eleven

“It’s cold and I’m wet.” Sophie shivered in her coat and frowned at Alexander the Great. “You’re also going to be hungry soon.” She narrowed her eyes. “Stop going on about my eating habits.” “I like your eating habits.” He grinned in the face of her obvious irritation. “And I know you’re going to enjoy this place. We’re going to enjoy ourselves.” “Yeah, sure.” She stared down the narrow alley and then back at the metal archway. “You promised me I’d enjoy myself before and look how awful that was.” “Awful.” He drawled out the word, a hint of tease brimming in the vowels. “You are surprising. In so many ways.” She ignored him and read the crooked sign instead. “Marché des Enfants Rouges. You want me to go and examine red babies?” He laughed again. And again she realized she loved it when he truly laughed. Not the fake laugh he’d used on the plane when he was meeting with Henry and their PAs. Not

the arrogant laugh he gave his clients. No, his real laugh came rich and round, from his belly and not his calculating mind. Before she could stop herself, she glanced from the sign to him. He was smiling. The real smile. The one that lit his blue eyes to blazing beauty and made his wide mouth something she very much wanted to go on her tiptoes and touch. With her own. She yanked her attention away. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.” “Sophia.” He exhaled in clear exasperation. Ignoring him once more, she pushed open the gate and marched up the long narrow lane decorated with a line of potted chrysanthemums, their bright yellow and red colors trying to appear cheerful in the dripping rain. Cheerful. Ha. She was acting like a brat. She knew this. Rather than being a nitwit, she should enjoy being in Paris. So what if she hated clothes shopping? So what if the last five hours had been horrible? So what if the dratted man walking behind her was a know-it-all manipulator? She was in Paris. She was going to spend the next week with the best pastry chefs in the world. Plus, she couldn’t blame Alexander Stravoudas for not knowing why she hated clothes shopping and hated red dresses in particular. He didn’t know and since she wasn’t ever going to share the gory details, she was stuck with the clothes he’d bought her until their deal was done. Including that horrible red dress. A red dress he was going to demand

she wear at some point. She’d seen the look in his eye when she’d walked out of the dressing room for the last time. She’d seen the gleam of— Sexual interest. Mr. Perfect was sexually interested in her. Her tummy flipped into a frenzy at the thought. She hadn’t imagined the something in his eyes when they’d been eating breakfast. Alexander wanted to have sex with her. She was sure of it. Well, almost sure. Because she was talking about the Perfect Man here. The guy that dated beauties and blondes and the best. Not that Sophie wasn’t confident in herself. She was. Kind of. But she was also a realist. She was short. Round. And nothing close to being perfect for the Perfect Man. Rain drizzled on her neck and shoulders, making her shiver. “Cold?” His warm voice came from right behind her. “We’ll be out of the rain in a second.” His hand, his big, brute hand, brushed her ponytail and then down. The touch lingered on the small of her back. Even through her heavy wool coat, she felt the linger. Her steps faltered to a stop. He closed in, right behind her. She didn’t have a lot of sex radar; her girlfriends teased her about that. Still, she had enough to recognize what this was. He was interested. What are you going to do about it?

The question banged into her brain, leaving confusion and excitement and incredulous disbelief in its wake. Before she could stop herself, she peeked at him. At his mouth, specifically. His sunny smile had been replaced with a sultry, sexy slant. She looked up farther, into his eyes. The cerulean color blazed with… Desire. Her heart chugged into a violent gallop and her gaze flickered to his lush lips once more. He leaned in, close to her ear. “Do you want to kiss me?” The warmth of his breath brushed her skin and she shivered again. The rain fell, curtaining them in a haze of privacy. What are you going to do about this? “You want to kiss me, don’t you?” The confidence, the arrogance in his voice, blasted the answer from her brain. No. She did not want to do this. No. She did not want to be one of Alexander the Great’s conquests. And decidedly, NO. She did not want Mr. Perfect gloating about the fact he’d bedded the woman who’d spotted him for what he really was. A con man. A charmer. The last man she would ever trust with her body. She turned her head away. “No, I don’t want to kiss you.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the male mouth turn grim. “Ever again.” Yanking herself from the warm cocoon of his body, she marched forward.

There. She’d made her decision. She’d answered the question. Alexander Stravoudas had her reluctant cooperation for the next few months, but he was never going to get her body. He was never going to get the chance to crow about the fact he’d finally charmed Sophia Feuer into his bed; the last woman on earth who’d resisted him. The flowers lining the old brick wall sparkled in the rain. The something that had sparkled deep inside her, for a moment in time, went dim. “The chrysanthemums are pretty.” His voice came from behind her, mild and calm. As if her words had slid right off his hard hide. Fine. Whatever. Just so they were clear with each other. “They’re probably left over from All Saints Day,” he continued the litany, wading right into irritating and cementing the wisdom of her decision. She jerked to a stop and turned to confront her annoying guide. The rain misted around him, making the curls on the edge of his forehead look like twirled strands of gold. She wasn’t going to let his golden perfection distract her from the lecture that had to be delivered, though, if she were going to get any enjoyment out of Paris. “Let’s get something straight once and for all.” “I heard you the first time. No kissing. Got it.” His blue eyes were blank as if her rejection hadn’t been any big deal. “That’s not what I’m talking about.” “No?” He frowned. “Then why are you hot under the collar now?” “Because.” Sophie took in a deep breath and returned the frown. “I don’t want or need you to be my tour guide here. Okay?”

“I’m merely—” “I can find my way around Paris on my own.” “But I know—” “Look. Stravoudas.” His complete lack of listening to what she said fired her temper. Exactly as it always did. His laugh was long gone. As was the enchanting smile. In their place were a hard expression and a mouth twisted in exasperation. A twinge of regret ran through her, yet she couldn’t have him messing with her head as she headed into her meetings with the chefs. She couldn’t have him distract her with his smiles and the somethings in his eyes. She knew Stravoudas. Even with her complete rejection, he’d find some way to keep worming his way into what he wanted. The guy didn’t take rejection well. She knew that from observing him during the last few months. Rejection only inspired him into a further fit of charm until he finally bulldozed his way to victory. She had to admit to herself, she teetered on the fence of giving in to her growing attraction. He was sexy. He kissed like a dream. He did, occasionally, charm her. Another shiver ran through her. This was going to be tricky. “I’m working this week.” She forced herself to lay down the law, pushing the twinge of regret away. “You’re working this week.” “True.” He folded his arms in front of him, the line of his jaw tense.

“Neither of us are going to have time to stroll around Paris taking in the sights.” Well, that wasn’t quite true. She figured in between the TV show shots, she’d have a minute to hike through the Louvre or take in the Eiffel Tower. Only not with him. Not with Mr. Iknow-everything-about-Paris. “Certainly not with each other.” “Certainly.” His eyes were still blank, his expression had grown bland. So why were the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end? She shook off her unease. “Okay. Just so we’re clear this is all about work.” “And our deal.” The unease prickled on her skin. “The deal where I’m your pretend fiancée.” The emphasis she put on the one word didn’t appear to faze him. In fact, it seemed to amuse him. His wide mouth twisted into a sarcastic smile. “My perfect fiancée.” A blast of rain shot down from the sky, yet it did nothing to quench the immediate blast of her anger. Was that what the clothes shopping had been about? First, she’d figured it was about getting her irritated. Then she’d thought maybe it was about his sexual interest. Now it suddenly became clear he was trying to make her into some kind of perfect woman. He was treating her like a doll. A doll he had to deck out in order to make sure she’d be worthy of being seen with him. What total shit. “You are such a dickhead, Stravoudas.” The smile disappeared to be replaced with a snarl. “What the hell?” “I mean it.” She swung around to walk away, but his beefy hand yanked her to a stop. “Let go of me.”

“Let me get this straight.” The rain dripped down his cheeks and jaw, highlighting how lean and chiseled they were. “I fly you to Paris.” “You demanded I come to—” “A city you’ve always wanted to visit.” “Not with you being my guide—” “I feed you. All the time.” He tugged her closer, his fingers digging into her arm, his azure eyes blazing with temper. “I buy you a whole new wardrobe.” “One that I didn’t need and didn’t want.” Sophie swore she saw the rain sizzle on his hot skin and deep inside herself she responded with a reaction completely contradictory to her goals. Excitement mixed with fury swirled into a potent sexual heat. “And after all that, I’m a dickhead.” “Right. Exactly right.” She scowled into his hard face, her heart clang, clang, clanging in her chest. “A dickhead.” His mouth hardened and before she stopped herself, her gaze zeroed in on the movement. A fizzling tingle spread through her body, and suddenly she felt dizzy and unsettled. The jerk on her arm drew her attention back to the angry man holding her. He crowded in on her, his lips tight, his jaw rigid. “We both know what this is really about, don’t we, Sophia?” “What?” She tried to yank out of his grasp, but he refused to release her. “We both know you want to kiss me as much as I want to kiss you.” “No.”

He laughed. Not his fake laugh and not the laugh that made her want to reach out and touch him. No, this laugh held a threat. He came closer into her personal space, close enough that his breath heated the rain drops on her skin. “I might be a dickhead. But you want me.” “I don’t—” “Me. And my dick.” *** Alex fingered the stalk of asparagus and then passed over it to the next one. The owner of the vegetable stand nodded his head, smiling, apparently sure he’d get a sale. The rain pelted on the corrugated metal roofing of the covered market, making it hard to hear anything. All to the good. Even if she kept spewing names, he wouldn’t be able to hear her trash talk. Glancing across the market, he saw Sophia gazing at a lavish display of chocolates two vendors down from him. Her hair gleamed from the rain and the market lights emphasized the red in the strands. Their argument still burned in his blood. His accusation still rang in his head. You want me. He’d been harsh, hard. He’d also been right. Because as soon as he’d barked his words, she’d blushed. And before she’d looked away, he’d seen confirmation in her big, brown eyes.

Ms. Feuer was on fire for him. The dickhead. “I’ll take these.” He indicated two stalks and passed over the euros requested. Turning his back on Sophia, he sauntered up the aisle to the fresh fish. He loved this market, had since he’d been a boy. The stalls filled with kebabs and couscous. The simple wooden tables full of Parisians taking a break from work and tourists from around the world going through their guidebooks. The sharp smell of lavender from the south mixed with the spicy scents of paprika and cloves. The excitement he’d felt as they’d walked to the steel gate, the anticipation of showing something to her he’d known she’d appreciate, all of that was gone. I don’t want to kiss you. Her words stung in his memory, although he knew they were a lie. “I don’t usually enjoy fish that much.” Her voice piped in beside him. Alex glanced at her and noticed the three plastic bags she held. “Then I guess you can eat chocolate instead.” She narrowed her eyes, long, dark lashes veiling her gaze. Still, he saw the latent heat and even over his firm conviction never to give her another chance, his cock went semierect. He’d been correct when he’d concluded Ms. Feuer would delight in slapping him down if he showed any interest. Yet he’d stupidly stepped right into the path of that slap. But his cock didn’t care. Not about being correct. Not about his conclusions.

Not even about the slap. “You’ll like this fish.” He pointed at the fresh sole and the vendor started wrapping coarse brown paper around the chosen pieces. “I hate it when you tell me what I’m going to like,” she snapped. His cock hardened further. Alex accepted the bag from the vendor and headed for the wine. A good Pouilly Fuissé would go nicely with the lemon cream sauce he planned on pouring over the sole. “I hate it almost more than when you do this ignoring crap.” Stopping in the row of wine bottles, he began to peruse. “You can’t belittle me by pretending I don’t exist. I won’t let you do it. Not anymore.” He spotted the bottle he wanted. La Roche. Some of the best vines in France, his grand-père had often said. “You know, Stravoudas, not every woman needs to bow down before you.” An instant image of Sophia on her knees before him caused his cock to harden in a complete erection. He ignored it. And her. “I’ll take the Martine Barraud.” He waved at the bottle he wanted and the vendor dutifully plucked it from the shelf. Pulling his belt loose, he stowed the wine in the side pocket of his navy trench coat. As he swung the flap closed, he glanced over to see her staring, wide-eyed, at his crotch. Before he could stop himself, he slipped. “Like what you see?”

“No.” The word came out in a rush and her tiny hand tightened on her bags of chocolate. He deserved it. He’d slipped and got another slap. What he needed was to forget this woman even existed. He had plenty of work to focus on during the next few days and plenty of reasons to stay out of her way. Except for the foolish fact he’d put them in the same apartment together, all alone, he shouldn’t have any trouble keeping himself far away from Ms. Feuer. Turning, he paced through the market and into the open lane. The rain had slowed to a drizzle and Alex welcomed the cool moisture on his hot skin. “So. What?” She followed behind him, the slap, slap of her sneakers splashing in the puddles. “Are you going to ignore me from now on?” Oui. He was. The family apartment on Boulevard Saint-Germain was a mere thirty-minute walk from here, less for a guy with long legs. He turned to gaze at her short, stubby ones. “We can take a taxi.” “He speaks. To me.” She stomped in the puddle again and a wash of icy water splashed onto his good wool pants. Alex squashed his aggravation. He was a gentleman. The woman had flown across the Atlantic, hadn’t slept in hours, plus she’d been forced to buy clothes, something she plainly hated. She wasn’t like him. She didn’t appreciate beautiful things. There was no understanding inside her of the subtle magic of this city nor would she feel the current of excitement he always felt when he came to Paris. He needed to stop this ridiculous

campaign to win her over. Why did he keep trying to pound his head against the wall of her dislike? Sophia was right. This was about work and deals. Nothing more. “There’s a taxi stand at the corner.” “Where are we going now?” She sounded tired. Too tired to walk the enchanting streets of his favorite city. See? He’d been correct. “To my family’s apartment. It’s about thirty minutes away.” “By taxi?” She cocked her head and the end of her ponytail flopped onto her shoulder like a sinuous red-tinged snake. “No.” He gripped the bag carrying the fish and asparagus. “Walking. By taxi, we’ll be there in minutes.” Staring at him, she scowled. “Why the heck would I come to Paris only to take a taxi everywhere?” A jolt of surprise echoed through him. Not many women would elect to walk dank, dreary streets in December. Even if this was Paris. Also, this was a woman who’d declared she had no interest in doing anything with him. Regardless of the fact that this was a lie, why would she pivot a one-eighty and declare she wanted something else entirely? “We’re walking,” the woman stated. “Suits me.” Swinging around, he marched across the street, making for the Seine. Whatever odd quirk in her personality made her make this decision, he didn’t care. Not one little bit. Instead of worrying about her, thinking about her, he was going to enjoy.

He’d walked almost all of Paris’s streets at one time or another, but this was his favorite route. Down Rue Vielle du Temple, with its funky mix of bistros and galleries, across Pont au Change to the Île de la Cité, past the Conciergerie, where Marie Antoinette spent her last days. Then came the exquisite La Sainte-Chapelle, with its stained-glass windows and medieval splendor. Finally, he’d meander through the narrow Rue SaintAndré des Arts, its twisting path leading to the broad avenue where the family apartment occupied the second floor of a grand Haussmann building. The splatter of rain continued as they marched past ancient buildings and pleasant parks. When they got to Pont au Change, the wind picked up, an icy gale coming off the river. The Seine rolled along, dark and murky. Dusk descended slowly, the stark black streetlights flickering on one by one, lighting the tiny island in the middle of the city with a burnished glow. “Oh.” Her voice came from behind him. “That’s pretty.” He glanced over his shoulder. She had stopped to stare at the impressive lines of his favorite church, looming out of the gathering darkness. La Sainte-Chapelle’s stunning stained glass and soaring stone walls had inspired his love for the art he now practiced. He supposed he could tell her about the history of King Louis and the elements of medieval Gothic architecture, but Ms. Feuer wanted none of what he offered. He started walking once more. “What’s its name?” she called. Stopping, he turned back to gaze at her and said nothing. A long minute went by.

She made a face. “Come on.” He kept staring. “Tell me,” she demanded. Alex turned around and paced off. There was a strange brew inside him—a childish need to hurt, a masculine drive to punish. He knew he should be gracious, his maman would be appalled at his actions, yet he was in no mood to cater to anyone. Especially not to Sophia. He arrived at the squat, sturdy Pont Saint-Michel, crouching above the Seine, just as she caught up with him. “You're being an asshole.” Her breath came fast, still, there was no heat in her voice. Rather, he detected an odd element of affection. Affection? He swiveled to stare at her again. “Okay.” She made another face. “I told you not to be a guide.” He said nothing. He was too busy trying to decide if he were crazy about what he heard lacing through her words. Affection? “That doesn’t mean you have to be an asshole, though.” That was definitely affection edging around the acid putdown. The realization astonished him and also caused something in the brew inside him to dissipate. Enough to give her a boon. “La Sainte-Chapelle.” A quirky grin slipped across her mouth. “That’s the name of that pretty church?”

“Oui.” The wind whistled past and she shuddered in her coat. A sudden desire to shield her, protect her, take her into his arms, tingled up his spine, but he resisted. He didn’t need another slap. “Let’s go. We’re almost there.” By the time they’d crossed the bridge, even he felt the cold straight through his coat. The wine bottle clunked on the side of his hip, making him think of what lay before him. Sophia. In his family’s apartment. He’d never taken any woman to this place. The Paris home was for family. Only family. That thought had crossed his mind when he’d been organizing this trip, yet he hadn’t found any overt reason for stuffing her in a hotel while he stayed elsewhere. Sophia. In the family home. The narrow lane of Rue Saint-André des Arts crowded out the remaining light, casting dark shadows on the sidewalk. The usual crowds were gone, driven into the warmly lit restaurants and galleries lining the street. He heard her breathing behind him, the sound mixing and mingling with the gentle slosh of drizzle on the pavement. They turned onto the boulevard; its wide lane lined with naked bony trees and splashes of color and laughter as people came in and out of the shops and restaurants. The flash of headlights, spearing into the dark, came and went as the cars drove past. “This is it?” she said as they stopped under the bright red awning. “Oui.” He opened the glass-and-mahogany door to the lobby. Her brown eyes widened. “Oh.”

The lobby was impressive. Since the building housed some of the finest and most expensive apartments in Paris, this was no surprise. The black-and-white checkered floor complimented the icy-clean lines of the concierge desk and the antique glass chandelier. “Monsieur Stravoudas.” Marcel, the attendant who had manned this desk since Alex had been a kid, smiled a welcome. “It is good to have you return.” “Is this a hotel?” she whispered at his side. “It’s good to return to Paris.” Ignoring her, he strode over and shook the older man’s hand. Marcel’s gray, shaggy eyebrows rose as he examined Sophia’s wet hair and disheveled appearance. His mouth tightened. “Shall I make dinner reservations for you?” Alex found himself unaccountably irritated at the man—a man who’d always been unfailingly polite. Before. Before Sophia stepped into the lobby. Unwanted, still undeniable, the powerful feeling of shielding her ran through him once more. Now, not from the wind, but from any kind of judgment at all. She huffed. He glanced back and immediately, amusement rose inside to twine around his need to protect. She glared at Marcel as if he were a mere toad before her. “Sophia.” He gestured at the other man. “Meet Marcel.” She huffed again. “Marcel.” He smiled. “Meet my fiancée.” The older man’s eyes widened before a plastic smile covered his face. “Mademoiselle. Charmed.”

Alex looked at her and nearly laughed. His sharp, little firecracker was having none of it. The glare had gone deadly. “Perhaps you will take her to Boucherie Roulière for dinner.” Marcel kept trying. “Shall I make a reservation?” He finally took pity on the man. “No, we’ll be eating in tonight.” “Very good, very good.” The older man clapped his hands together, the smile still pinned on his face. “The stairs are over here.” Alex gestured her forward and she came, but not before giving Marcel one more glaring shot. The red carpet had been replaced since he’d last been here six months ago. The runner cushioned the sound of her stomping, but not by much. He grinned. “What a dick.” He turned and looked at her, his grin wider. “I object to that.” “What?” The delicate line of her dark eyebrows frowned. “That’s my title.” Stepping to the apartment’s front door, he slipped in the card key. “He can’t have it.” “You are being so stupid…” She stepped into the foyer. “Oh.” His mother’s family had passed down the home from generation to generation. He didn’t know how long they’d owned it, but it had been at least a hundred years. To him, it was merely the place they came to every summer when he’d been a kid. The gold-edged

antiques, the flowing, satin-lined curtains, the plush Persian carpets; this was merely part of the tapestry of his background. “Oh, my.” She wandered away from the front door into the center of the wide central room. The curtains had been pulled back, and even though the night was hazy with rain, the lights of the Eiffel Tower glittered in the distance. She turned around slowly, taking the room in. “This? This is your family home?” “One of them.” Shaking off the image of her dazzled face, he marched up the hall lined with family photographs and into the compact kitchen. Modern steel appliances fit in well with the old arched walls and antique plate-glass doors that led to a tiny terrace. It had taken him ten years to convince his maman the work was needed and that he could do it. She appeared in the arch of the door. “This room is gorgeous, too.” Alex plopped the bag containing the sole and asparagus onto the black granite counter. Slipping the wine from his coat pocket, he opened the waist-high refrigerator and put it in to cool. “Why don’t you take a bath while I cook dinner?” Her round face scrunched into a puzzled grimace. “Why are you being nice to me all of a sudden?” Because of the affection still lingering in her voice. Even when she called him stupid. An affection he realized he shared. The recognition of the fact rocked him back, making him defensive. “Would you like me to be a dickhead instead?”

Amusement blossomed on her face and then was replaced with wariness. The look told him she was as shocked as he was at where they’d landed. They liked each other. “Your bedroom’s at the end of the hall and there’s an adjoining bathroom.” He waved past her. “Go take a bath.” A militant frown was her response to his command and his own amusement bloomed inside. Also, he realized, anticipation. He couldn’t wait for the scold. Much to his disappointment, she appeared to choose her battles. “Okay.” She tramped off, sneakers slapping on the wooden parquet floor. Sighing, he slid his coat off and rolled up his sleeves. He pushed away the disappointment at missing another scrape with Sophia and focused on the food. Within a few minutes, the fish sizzled in the copper pan as he indulged himself with a glass of wine. Walking to the terrace door to stare into the dark of the night, he tried to wrap his head around the fact that somewhere along the way, he and Sophia had found something inside both of them to appreciate. Incredible. Alex sipped the wine again, letting the delicate, fresh taste linger on his tongue. The rain came harder now, sliding down the glass like fingers of silver. The lights of Paris twinkled as a wicked wind whipped the barren tree tops back and forth. He liked her. A lot. Tie that into the driving sexual need and there was bound to be quite a bit of trouble coming toward him.

“That was incredible.” Her voice had gone soft and sultry. His cock twitched even before he turned to see. See her and see that trouble had definitely arrived. She wore a big, fluffy something or other he supposed could be labeled as a bathrobe. In true Sophia fashion, it was exactly the wrong color for her. A putrid pink. The fuzzy material was also all wrong for her, making her look like a feathery snowball rather than a shapely, sexy woman. His cock didn’t focus on any of this. Instead, his cock demanded he notice the flush of rose on her ivory skin. And the way her dark hair, pinned into a tousled mess, looked so fine and silky along her cheek. Or how her eyes were rich and warm, a lovely light burning deep inside. “That is the best bathroom I’ve ever been in.” She gave him an inviting smile and his heart began to beat. Hard. Speaking of hard… “Would you enjoy a glass of wine?” He moved back to the stove, intent on hiding his reaction to her. No more slaps. “Yes, please.” She walked behind him and perched herself on one of the three stools standing along the end of the counter. The edge of her robe slipped down, giving him a flash of dimpled knee and curvy calf. He tore his gaze away and busied himself by pouring some wine into one of the Baccarat glasses his mother prized.

She stared at the glass when he presented it to her. “Gosh,” she said, her eyes dazed. “Even the glasses are beautiful.” Sophia did see beauty. If he hadn’t gotten her riled up before stepping into the market a couple of hours ago, she would have liked everything about it. She would have enjoyed the crowds with him and loved the ambiance and shared the beauty with him. She would have appreciated the market as much as he did. The recognition of this plunked inside of him, right by the affection. Her fingers touched his as she took the glass, and he yanked away from the touch. One delicate brow lifted. “You okay?” “Oui.” He returned his focus to the fish. The fish was safe. “You’ve gotten all French since you got here.” Shrugging, he turned the sole. “Paris is my second home.” Then, she did it. She hummed again. Trouble whispered its seductive call. Without thinking, he glanced over and everything inside him stilled. Sophia’s robe had now slipped past her calves, showing him the beginning of creamy thighs. To add to his discomfort, the robe’s neckline had fallen, exposing her abundant cleavage to his gaze. The last glisten of water pearled on her skin making it dance before his eyes. “This wine is…” she hummed one more time.

The blood in his cock heated and choked, beating a heavy surge of desire through his body. One more hum. Alex knew suddenly, with a bright, hot slide of a spear into his side, that trouble had not only arrived, she planned on taking up residence in his dreams for the foreseeable future.


Chapter Twelve

She was good. Very good. Alex leaned on the old brick wall of the ancient bakery. The tiny basement was filled with hot lights, sweaty people, and cameras. In the center stood Sophia. All her attention was focused on an older gentlemen with a shock of silver hair and glinting brown eyes wearing the typical white coat of a master pastry chef. The man looked dazzled. As well he should be. In the hour Alex had been observing, his fake fiancée had cooed and cajoled as one of the most prominent pastry chefs in Paris fell under her spell. In the process, the man had shared far more secret tips than he’d been willing to share at first. He knew this by the daze in the man’s eyes. Dazzled and dazed. That took talent and hard work.

Alex knew this because he did much the same thing when figuring out what his newest client desired before being willing to sign on the dotted line. It was his job to figure that out and then design a building that fulfilled every dream the client had. You needed to dazzle in order to make the sale. Apparently, in Sophia’s work, you needed to dazzle in order to find the secrets. His cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it because he knew it was Henry. And he didn’t want to talk to Henry. “Monsieur Desfontaines. You are a marvel.” Sophia smiled, a smile he had never seen on her face. Not the sarcastic smile she gave him when he annoyed her. Nor the gritted grin she granted him when he teased her into a rage. Not even the slow smile she gave when sipping a fine glass of wine. No, this smile was filled with pure pleasure and approval. A nasty spurt of what could only be labeled as envy ran through him. He wanted that smile directed at him. “Mademoiselle Sophie.” The old man hadn’t lost any of his masculine panache. His eyes sparkled while a grin split his mouth showing very white teeth. “You inspire me.” “Okay, Soph.” Her cameraman, Will, broke into the mutual love fest. “We’re ready to take the last shot.” Her face went serious and she bent over the marble-topped table where trays of brightly colored circles of baked pastry were cooling. “Have you aimed the camera down,

so the viewer can see the fillings?” she asked. “I want to make sure they can see the ganache and butter cream.” “Right-o, Soph.” Jake, the producer, waved her concern away. “We’re ready to go.” “I am going to let my son discuss the fillings for the macarons,” the old man announced. “Dominique.” “Oh?” Sophia’s brown eyes widened as a younger version of French charisma came from around the wood-fired brick oven. “This is a surprise.” “Charmed.” The son had inherited the flair of his father. He took her hand in his and bestowed a suave kiss on it. “I am at your service.” Her hand. The hand that should have had the Stravoudas family ring on it. Anger and envy were not the words he would use to describe what ran through Alex’s blood at this moment. The feeling was far hotter, far more violent. The muscles lining his spine tightened into knots. “This is wonderful.” His firecracker beamed in delight. “I didn’t think you were available.” “I postponed an appointment.” The smooth-talking Frenchman beamed right back. “I knew I wouldn’t want to miss such a wonderful time.” Everyone was having a wonderful time. Except for Alex Stravoudas. “Okay, Soph. Ready?” The cameraman ducked behind his camera. “Cue.” Another hour passed as the ass of a Frenchman tried to coo and cajole Sophia into… what? Taking her clothes off? Falling into a puddle of love at his feet? Whatever his aim, all his attempts were in vain.

His krotída mou was made of stern stuff. She smiled. She laughed. And she kept working. More French secrets were spilled. “That’s a wrap.” In a flash, the lights went dim except for the bakery’s overhead line of bulbs. “I can show you the best restaurant in Paris tonight, Sophie.” Dominique had not given up, Alex had to give him that. Actually. No. He didn’t. “Sophia.” Everyone swung to stare at him. All right. Perhaps his voice had been a bit stinging. Maybe violent on the edge. His fake fiancée’s face went blank. “Who is this?” The Frenchman looked him over with barely veiled disgust. “This is her fiancé.” He moved through the throng of baking assistants and TV assistants. He didn’t smile because he didn’t feel like smiling or charming. Rather, he felt like shouting or rampaging. You are being an idiot, his brain snarled at him. She’s mine, his gut shouted in reply. The last thought stopped him cold. She’s mine? “What are you doing here?” Sophia’s round face screwed into consternation along with a heavy dose of fluster. For the first time in two hours, his fierce firecracker didn’t seem to know what to do.

Why? “I finished work early.” In reality, he’d walked out long before the work had been completed, much to Henry’s aggravation. “I thought I’d come by and watch you work.” “How did you get in here, Monsieur?” The fool of a Frenchman demanded as if this was his family’s kingdom. Which it was. Alex had no intention of getting the blushing clerk, who’d let him into the back room of the bakery and showed him the stairs going down to the kingdom, into trouble. Her sellout wasn’t her fault. Not many women could deny him when he had his charm on full throttle. “I found my own way.” Dominique frowned and opened his mouth. “I don’t—” “Merci, Dom.” Sophia cut him off by grabbing his cheeks. Rolling onto her tiptoes, she gave him a big kiss on his instantly smiling lips. “You were wonderful.” “Enchanté.” The man grabbed her waist and appeared to be ready to carry on with the kiss, but right before Alex leaned across the table to punch him, she moved aside with an easy smile. “Okay, Soph.” Will stepped forward and smoothly extracted her from behind the table. “We’ll do some clean-up here.” “Thanks.” She slipped the long white apron she wore over her head, the spill of dark, red-tinged curls, caught into her usual ponytail, bounced and then slid back on her shoulder. “I’ll meet you tomorrow at Stroher’s.” “At three a.m.” Jake chimed in with a laugh.

She made a face. “Right.” Tonight, he and Sophia were scheduled to attend a lavish dinner at the emir’s fabulous mansion in the center of Paris. If experience told him anything, there would be quite a lot of dining and dealing. There would be a series of long conversations circling around the contract where he would have to perform to the emir’s satisfaction. Then there would be the endless round of chatting that merely concealed a bunch of selling. He felt tired just thinking about it. Sophia would be exhausted tomorrow morning. A heavy layer of unexpected guilt settled on his shoulders. She looked at him, a guarded glance. “I’m ready to go.” Taking her arm, he gave the Frenchman a smug grin and headed for the spindly stairs. They walked through the busy bakery, filled with gawking tourists and bustling clerks. The smell of yeasty baguettes permeated the air and he took a deep, appreciative breath in. The Frenchman could bake, he’d give him that. Not much else, though. Certainly not — “You don’t have to hold on to me with a death grip,” his fake fiancée muttered. “I’m coming with you, aren’t I?” Alex dropped her rounded elbow and grabbed onto the glass door handle instead. He wanted her out of here. The feeling might be unreasonable, but sue him. Stepping out on the wide sidewalk, they were confronted with the usual mix of tourists and locals. The crowds strolled along the Champs-Élysées, peering into shop windows, oohing and aahing about Cartier diamond jewelry and Vuitton leather handbags. The

weather had turned warm and sunny overnight. Coats and scarves had been replaced with T-shirts and bare legs. “I’ll need to get back to the apartment.” She waved a plump, naked hand in the direction of his family’s home. Immediately, his irritation returned, mixing in with the frustration and confusion already running through him. “To retrieve your forgotten ring, perhaps?” His words were barbed with threat. Sophia’s instant scowl should have ratcheted up the anger boiling inside. Instead, it inspired an immediate sweep of an entirely different emotion. Affection. Again. She was adorable. Staring at him with her dark brows scrunched into a frown, her bow lips twisted in a grimace, her brown eyes glaring. Adorable. Then she opened her mouth. “Listen, Stravoudas.” Her tennis shoe tapped on the sidewalk. “I can’t bake with that big, clunky thing hanging on my finger.” “Big, clunky thing?” Indignation swooped in to swamp the affection. “You’re calling the antique ring that’s been handed down in my mother’s family for generations a big, clunky thing?” Her frowning brows shot upward in surprise. “What?”

He took a step into her personal space. A stream of tourists swirled around them, shooting them odd glances, but his entire focus was on the woman standing her stubborn ground in front of him. “You heard me.” No stepping back for the firecracker. Not one inch. Her gaze met his, a glare as usual, yet something struck him. Something stopped his angry advancement. Her eyes were not brown. Not merely brown. The eyes looking at him were an exact match for the hot chocolate his maman served on every cold morning of his childhood. A rich blend of warmth and spark. A velvety brew that pinged his heart with memories of feeling safe, feeling accepted. Cocoa eyes. Something hard inside him melted as those eyes kept staring at him. Then Sophia opened her mouth. Again. “You bought that bling for Melanie.” All melting stopped. “The hell I did.” “You had to have.” The childishness of her words made him want to laugh. But he was too heated and too muddled to laugh. He didn’t want to let her off this hook because if he did, if he did, he might let her slide into somewhere he didn’t want her to go. “Fine. You don’t believe me.” He marched off, not sure where he was going. “Hey.” The slap of her sneakers followed him. “Hey!” Alex quickened his gait, weaving his way through the French women in their classic black dresses, past the glittering shops filled with couture, around the bald trees and black

lampposts. The stew of confusion about his work wound around the mix of anger and affection he felt for Sophia. The mix made for an ugly jumble inside him. Everything had been perfect a couple of months ago. Everything had been exactly as it should be. Now, everything was blowing up around him. And inside him. His love for his work. His sense of himself. His ideas for his future. His taste in women. “Hey.” She ran beside him, her short legs pumping to keep pace. “Okay. I believe you.” He stopped. His thoughts and emotions were all twisted around this woman. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want her. He glanced to his side and met her gaze. The cocoa eyes looked back, filled with warm sincerity. “I mean it.” She gave him a tentative smile. “I should have known from the box it came in.” The silver, satin-lined box. He remembered his grand-mère’s expression as she’d given the box to him on his eighteenth birthday. He remembered his maman’s tears, tears that for once were happy ones after a year of grieving for his father. Pour l’amour de l’amour. For love’s sake. He’d never understood what the term meant. Of course, being a man, even a young man, he’d never said that, never confessed his confusion. What eighteen-year-old boy even wanted to say the word love much less contemplate what it actually meant?

“Pour l’amour de l’amour,” Sophie said in a hushed voice. Jerking away from her gaze and her voice, he turned to stride away. “It’s a beautiful saying.” He glanced over his shoulder, meeting her steady look with an instinctive sneer. “It’s pure nonsense.” She made that unladylike noise in her throat and her eyes darkened with disgust. Glad, he stomped off. What did it matter what she thought of him? He didn’t care. Alex stuck his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders. Hell. He did care. Why? Why did he care what Sophia Feuer thought of him? Pushing the turmoil and questions aside, he walked faster. He couldn’t return to the hotel where Henry and the team were staying. Working in this frame of mind was not doable. He didn’t want to go to the apartment with Sophia and have to spend more time lusting over a woman he liked, much to his disgust. So he’d walk. He’d walk the streets of Paris and hopefully everything inside him would calm down eventually. “What does krotída mou mean?” Her annoying voice came from right beside him. He clamped his mouth closed as the muscles along his jaw tightened. Out of habit, he tried to hold this awful hash of conflict inside. His childhood training demanded he act like a gentleman. But then he remembered who he was talking to. Who asked the question. Sophia Feuer.

The woman who’d blasted his life into tatters. The woman who kept setting fires inside him. The woman who’d made everything wrong. So he let her have it. All of it. Snapping to a stop, he bent down and put his glaring, sneering face right in front of hers. “It means firecracker. As in, everything you touch, everything you say, blows up everybody’s plans. Everybody’s dreams.” Her smooth, creamy skin whitened, highlighting the sprinkle of freckles. He came closer, catching the light fragrance of sugar and vanilla that was such a contrast to her actions. “Do you ever think, Sophia, you might be wrong about a situation?” A flush rose from her neck. “I—” “Do you ever stop for a moment before you blow someone’s life up and think you might not have all the facts?” “I try and—” “Do you ever once keep your busybody nose out of everyone else’s business?” His last question ended in a shout. Her cupid bow lips opened and then closed. “No.” He straightened, his muscles suddenly tired, trembling. “No. You never do.” Turning to walk away, he almost stumbled. He felt as if a huge caldron of fear, confusion, and rage had exploded inside him, pouring out of him like a river of fiery emotions, leaving him shaken and cold. “Alex.”

The first time. The very first time she actually used his nickname instead of punching him with a slur or stomping him with the elongated version of his full name. He turned around, the anger building inside of him once more. This must be one more sneaky way of getting inside him, burrowing into him until he didn’t know what was his anymore. “Shut the f—” “I’m sorry.” Her tiny hands trembled before she clutched them into a ball. “I’m sorry I hurt you when I made Melanie see you weren’t good together.” “We were good together.” A steam of hate rose inside, filling his throat so his words sounded hoarse. “No, you weren’t.” Cocoa eyes stared at him. Determined. And also filled with… Affection. The steam dissipated, sliding away into a fog of bewilderment. He no longer knew what he wanted to do or what he wanted to say. “I’m walking.” “All right.” She scrunched her button nose as she eyed him. “Can I come with?” The fragile hope in her tone made something, something he didn’t want inside him, perk to attention. He fought it, fought the need to comfort her and forgive her. “Please?” The plea quavered at the end. “Fine.” Swinging around, he stalked past her. “Come if you want.” The sound of her shuffling sneakers came from behind him, adding to the turbulence still rolling inside. Within a few blocks, they turned off onto the avenue running by the Grand Palais. The art nouveau building, with its vaulted glass ceiling and ornate decoration, had been another one of his childhood inspirations.

Why did he have this compulsion to stroll past all his inspirations with Sophia? Why? “Are you going to tell me about that building?” She strode to his side to walk next to him, the white cotton shirt and black slacks she’d worn for the show highlighting the creamy rose of her skin and the roundness of her hips. The inevitable lust, a lust he fought to ignore, thrummed through him. “What do you want to know?” “Whatever you want to tell me.” The simple words launched him into a long recital about the building’s history much to his astonishment. Why did this woman continue to pull so many things out of him he had no intention of sharing? Somewhere along the way, he found himself telling her about his childhood ambitions, his falling in love with buildings, and his father’s constant encouragement. She glanced over at him. In her cocoa eyes, he saw warmth and kindness, even a touch of tenderness. “Your dad sounds wonderful.” “Yeah.” A sudden clutch of echoed grief caught in his throat. “Yeah.” “Tell me about him—” “Here’s the bridge named after me,” he said, forcing a jaunty tone into his voice. He never talked about his dad. Not really. When his maman or a sister mentioned Phillippos Stravoudas, Alex would nod his head, murmur a vague response, and get out of the conversation. The pain of even thinking about his dad was always too brutal. Her attention, just as he’d wanted, left the unwanted topic completely. “What?”

Waving at the lavishly decorated construction, with its gaudy golden trim, its four soaring pillars, its exuberant mix of cherubs and nymphs, he managed a bored look. “Merely something I designed in my spare time. In my honor, Paris decided to name the bridge after me.” She shot him a surprised glance. With one blink, she adjusted to his new mood. Quick, keen Sophia. The firecracker laughed. She’d rarely laughed in his presence and never with a complete abandonment. This time she did. Her head went back at the first chortle, her eyes closed tight at the second, and by the third, she had her hand pressed on her round stomach. But his focus zeroed in on her little bow mouth, wide open to show her pink tongue and white teeth. God, he wanted to kiss her. “Stop kidding,” she finally managed through another fit of chuckles. “I wouldn’t kid about one of my designs.” She eyed him. “Ha.” Alex chuckled. Nothing much slipped past her, and unlike most others, she had an uncanny ability to spike right through his BS. Why did that make him sizzle with excitement? Why? “Come on.” Her arms crossed in front of her and one finger tapped in impatience on a plump arm. “Stop playing around.”

All of sudden, it hit him. Every one of the why answers tumbled inside him. He wanted to know everything about her. He wanted to show her everything about him. Every time he was around Sophia life sparkled into…life. He stepped back. The tapping stopped. A wary look crossed her face. “The bridge’s real name is Pont Alexandre. But not because of me.” Turning away from him and his frown, because yes, he realized he was frowning, she walked up to an ornate lamp, one of dozens lining the wide pathway running across the bridge. A copper lizard stared back at her. “Cute.” The word was short and crisp. The taut line of her shoulders told him his frown had dampened her mood. “My dad loved this bridge.” Why the hell had he raised a subject he never went near? The idiotic impulse couldn’t be to soften her voice, soften her attitude towards him. “Really?” She glanced over her shoulder, her dark gaze alert, but still on guard. “Oui.” Pretending everything was fine, when everything was not, he strolled to the railing and leaned over. The river rolled along, a muddy current swirling with secrets. “Tell me about your dad.” He kept staring at the water. “He died when I was seventeen.” Four tourists passed, chatting happily away, a smattering of Italian and English. A horn blasted from the avenue behind them and someone yelled a curse word at the driver. “That’s not telling me about him, Alex.” Her words were tough. And kind.

He twisted around to look at her. Once more she’d said his name and he realized no one had ever said his name quite like she did. A cool roll of a vowel at the beginning, almost a tease. Then a quick flick at the end, as if in dismissal. There was something in how she said his name that challenged him, made his blood zing. He wanted her to moan his name. He wanted her to whisper his name in the dark, in the sultry way he imagined only she could do. The lust rose inside, clawing through his anger and affection, making him feel as if he had suddenly come to a boil— “Tell me about him.” One of her hands smoothed across the lizard. How could her hand be simultaneously so delicate yet strong? A shudder went through him. He turned back to the water. And back to a subject he didn’t want to talk about, but felt compelled to lay out in front of her. “He was an immigrant. Very poor when he landed in America.” “He didn’t stay poor, though.” “No.” He forced a smile, stinging memories crowding in his brain. “That was important to him. To get ahead. To make his mark.” “A need you inherited.” “Yeah.” Throwing his head back, he stared into the blue sky. Something ugly churned inside. “I guess.” “You loved him.” A clutch of tears clogged his throat. “Yeah.” “Okay.” She came closer, with a hesitant step. “Now tell me how he died.” I killed him.

Alex swiveled around and took off across the bridge.


Chapter Thirteen

If a man could be any more pompous and presumptuous than Sheikh Adel Bin Abbas Al Zhani, Sophie would like to know him. Well, no, actually not. “Mademoiselle Sophie.” The slick boy-man inclined toward her, invading her personal space. His dark hair gleamed with oil and the wisp of a beard on his chin made him look fifteen years old. Even though he’d been eager to inform her he’d turned all of twentyone. “You are not eating the food correctly.” Across the table, his father, Sheikh Abbas Bin Saeed Al Zhani, nodded slowly, his checkered headdress wafting across his hunched shoulders. The gray in his beard did nothing to lessen the sharpness of his gaze. This was Alex’s potential client, not the boy-man sitting beside her. However, it was clear by the look in the old man’s eyes, she needed to impress them both. “You must let me show you how to eat our food in the right way.”

She felt stifled by the younger sheikh, surrounded. How and why this guy had picked her out for special attention, she had no idea. And yet he had. Which was a problem. Henry had been sweet and polite on the way to this dinner. He’d also been pointed. This was a traditional client. There were unspoken rules. Everything needed to go flawlessly. Alex hadn’t said a word. Instead, he’d stared broodingly out the limo window. Still, she got it. The third promise. Be the loving fiancée in front of the emir and his wife. Impress them with how strong of a union she had with Alex. Be the compliant, sweet, traditional woman she was so…not. She’d girded herself before walking into the extravagant mansion. Managing not to show how appalled she was at the over-the-top decorations, she’d smiled and nodded at the wife of the emir and the other two wives of his associates. She’d allowed herself to be paraded around the parlor with Alex, greeting the dozens of attendants to the sheikh. She thought she had this in the bag until the son had swooped into the situation. She hadn’t counted on a smarmy son. “Now look at the food first.” His cloying command drifted very close to her ear. Focusing on the stew, a blend of lamb, lentils, and cucumbers, she tried to ignore him without causing offense. She’d picked out a spoon as soon as the main course had been served because if her mouth was full, she wouldn’t have to keep responding to the boyman. The guy who’d lunged to the chair next to her before anyone else could save her. He’d given her a smug smirk as he’d sat.

The same smug smirk was on his face now. “Okay. I looked.” Her temper bubbled, but she hid it behind another insipid smile. He took a piece of flatbread out of the warmer in the middle of the long, mahogany dining table. An inlaid herringbone design ran along the edge of the table drawing a person’s attention to the fancy swags on the sides. The table shrieked wealth in a banshee sort of way. The table matched the rest of this monstrous house perched on the riverbank of the Seine. It also matched the flamboyance of the owner’s son. Sophie kept a smile pinned to her face. “In my homeland.” He edged his chair closer to hers and the overpowering smell of his cologne—heavy and pungent—filled her nose until she thought she might sneeze in his face. “We use bread to eat this particular stew.” “Right.” She snatched the bread out of his skinny fingers and kept smiling. “Thank you for letting me know.” “My pleasure.” He purred the last word and his eyes told her he meant something entirely different. What a revolting boy. Concentrating hard on the food, she stuffed a piece of meat into her mouth. She chewed while keeping her gaze pinned on the table. Not getting enough attention, after a minute or two, he moved across to the other side of his chair and began a conversation with one of the many family sycophants. His father continued to stare at her from across the table as if he were analyzing a new species of

worm. His wife, apparently satisfied with Sophie’s table manners, avoided any interaction. She didn’t like this. Any of this. The situation felt wrong. All wrong. Her Irish radar buzzed like a chainsaw, telling her this was the biggest circle of jerkhood ever assembled. How could Alex contemplate doing business with these people? How could he want to spend time with a man whose son felt it was fine to come on to a potential partner’s fiancée? Okay. Not quite a come on. But close. Close enough to make her uncomfortable. She didn’t like this mansion. She didn’t like the emir and his entourage. And she absolutely didn’t like the boy-king. He’d arrived a full hour after the festivities had begun. In that hour, she had taken in the gilded gold statues, the green satin wallpaper, the garish antique furniture and realized it resembled a weird kind of ode to Western over-consumption. The place almost looked like a movie set. How oddly splendid a stage it was for the boy-sheikh. He’d acted like a ridiculous actor in a B-grade movie as he’d strutted into the room. He literally wore a black cape. Like some sort of superhero. A squeak of humor, one she’d managed to hold in during the last two hours of endless conversation, erupted from her mouth. An answering cough came from the end of the long table. Sophie glanced down, down, down the table to meet Alex’s blue eyes. They were blank. His face wore the same bland smile he’d had on since they climbed into the limo

to Henry’s terse greeting. She couldn’t read anything on his face or in his gaze and yet, she knew. She knew exactly. He was royally pissed off. Maybe it was the tense way he held his shoulders inside the midnight blue of his tuxedo. Or was it the tight edge of his jaw? Perhaps it was the complete nothingness in his eyes that gave her the clue. He was really, really angry. At her? She’d tried her best to cover for his silence amid the last few hours. Somehow and somewhere, the charming man who made everyone feel like a bright shining star in his orbit had disappeared. In his place stood a man who, while not quite sullen, was certainly no picnic to be with. The emir had not been pleased. So she’d bounced into action, laughing and smiling and generally being the life of this wretched party. Along with Henry, she’d managed to smooth over any awkwardness and by the time they’d sat down for this late dinner, things seemed to be going swimmingly. Except for the boy-man. But she had that under control, for the most part. Alex shouldn’t be mad at her. He should be grateful. Sophie looked at the stew and managed to slide a cucumber onto the bread. She stuffed it into her mouth just as the young sheikh turned back to focus on her again. Well, not her. He stared at her chest.

She supposed it might have something to do with the black gown she wore. The dress was simplicity itself with its elegant puffed sleeves and straight lines. Demure and sophisticated, the edge of the skirt fell way past her knees. The wives had seemed to approve after spending long minutes looking her over. The gown had given her confidence. The folds of the dress made her appear taller and slimmer, with the help of her La Redoute shoes. She had to admit—the Perfect Man had picked perfectly. There was something about the color that made her skin glow. Yet he probably hadn’t thought about how the cut of the bodice would highlight her cleavage. Even though the dress wasn’t splashy or daring, it still showcased what she couldn’t help. She fixated on the stew. Eventually, the boy-man turned to the conversation on the other side of the table once more. Taking a deep breath, she glanced over to the other end. This time, Alex didn’t meet her gaze. He seemed to be in a stilted discussion with the emir’s second-in-command and Henry. Doubtless about the deal. The deal to build the emir’s dream. The architectural model had stood in the middle of the wide parlor they’d been ushered into. It rose like a black spear, an elongated, rigid…dick. A dick designed by her very own dickhead. I might be a dickhead, but you want me. The memory of his accusation shivered across her skin. Every time she thought of the intensity of his voice…every time, she shivered. She did want him.

She hated to admit it, hated the thought of falling into his bed. But last night, as she’d watched him cook dinner for her, watched as his broad shoulders hovered above the stove, watched his lips as he sipped the wine, she’d known right in the pit of her. She wanted him. “Our food is delicious, isn’t it?” Swaggering satisfaction oozed in the words. Swallowing, she exaggerated her smile and faced the nasty boy. “Yes, it’s wonderful.” “There’s more here at this table that’s wonderful.” His gaze dropped. Sophie forced away a desperate desire to slap her linen napkin onto her chest. There was also the urgent need to slap this boy sheikh that had to be fought. Focus on smiling, Soph. Smile. At a man who was not looking at her face. If she did what she wanted to do, slap this guy, then all of Alex’s plans would explode and along with it, her bakery. She gritted her teeth and smiled. A strange noise came from the end of the table. An animal noise. Did the emir have a bear or a lion in residence? Before she could stop herself, she glanced back down the table. Alex was staring at her again. Or at least in her direction. Henry also had his concentration pinned on the interaction going on between the emir’s son and her. He gave her a slight smile as if prodding her to be a good girl. Alex’s jaw was rigid. No mistaking it. His blue gaze brimmed with fiery heat. One of his muscular hands lay on the table clenched in a fist—right by the china plate and

sterling silver knife. It would only take a quick movement of those talented fingers and missiles would be flying down the table toward her. Or the emir’s son? The sound came again. That sound was not from a bear or a lion. That sound came from her fake fiancé. The noise radiated… Jealousy? Truly? A flush of astonishment heated her face. She’d never dated any man who showed a hint of jealousy. Sophie Feuer wasn’t the type of girl to elicit possessive thoughts. At least, until now. Maybe? That big fist clenched again, white showing on the knuckles. Her eyes widened as she met a blue gaze so hot it gleamed like a blowtorch. No, no. This couldn’t be. Her logical mind rebelled. This must be something else. Something much more likely and predictable. Her fake fiancé was mad at her for some reason or another. She didn’t think it was the remnants of their earlier fight this afternoon. Sure, he’d stormed off at the end for some unknown reason. But by the time they’d marched across the bridge and landed at the apartment, he’d seemed to recover his temper. He’d even been pleasant as they walked up the stairs and entered the beauty of his family’s Parisian home. If anything could, that apartment would gentle a temper.

So it must be something she was doing now. Did he think she was whispering damaging information to the boy-child? Or did he think she was flirting with this horrible twit? Even when she knew how important this deal was to him? Hurt rushed in to replace astonishment. How could he think any of these things? “Mademoiselle Sophie.” The twit’s grating voice droned right next to her ear. “Yes?” Choosing between her glaring fake fiancé and this man was a very hard choice indeed. However, she needed to keep her focus on the nearest danger. She tore her attention away from Alex and landed it back on the man at her side. “Your Alexander is quite talented.” His black eyes promised her he was more talented. In bed, his gaze said, as it slid down her throat to her breasts once more. Repellent and revolting. An idea, a perfect idea, sprung fully formed into her head. Adoration of a man wasn’t in her usual repertoire, but a pastry chef learned to improvise. “He is, isn’t he?” The best way to cure this come on and to stop this interaction at once was to gush. She wasn’t much of a gusher, but in this case, she’d figure out how to do it. If she gushed enough to appear incredibly, stupidly in love with Alex, then the emir’s son would grow disinterested and he’d leave her alone. Hopefully. Because she had to nip this conversation in the bud quick or else the Perfect Man was going to do something perfectly stupid. The hairs standing high on the back of her neck told her so. An angry Alex tended to lash out—she could testify to that herself. He needed this deal to make his dreams come true.

She couldn’t let this loathsome fool spoil her fake fiancé’s plans. The determination rang inside her, startling her with its intensity. The need to protect Alex’s pride had been surprising enough. The fact that she now wanted to protect his dream drove her right into complete consternation. When had this happened? Perhaps it had been when he’d smiled at her as she took the first bite of sole last night and groaned. Or it could have happened when she’d seen the respect shining in his eyes when she’d looked away from Dominique today and seen him staring at her. Possibly it was the unfiltered pain of love crossing his face as he’d talked about his father this afternoon on the bridge supposedly named after him. And maybe, maybe it was all the above and more. Sophie straightened in her high-backed chair. Whatever the motivation, what was important was getting this done for him. There was so much going his way, the only thing she needed to do was give this deal a bit of a push. The emir loved the dick design. Clearly. He’d circled the thing with Alex and Henry at his side, crowing about the line of the building. Babbling imaginations of the view from the top, the decorations of his penthouse, the awe of his neighbors—the man had gone on and on for what seemed like hours. The emir’s family and sycophants had warmed during the course of the evening. Her smiles were now returned. Henry’s laugh had been joined by the emir and his staff.

Alex’s description of the design had been received with delighted approval, even if the presentation had been delivered with studied indifference. The deal was a done deal. Clearly. Unless something or someone botched it. The boy-man came closer. “How did he convince a lovely woman like you to marry him?” She brightened her smile to a beam. “Oh, it was exactly the opposite.” “What?” His unibrow arched. “I chased him all over New York City.” She tried her best to plant adoration of Alexander the Great on her expression. “He’s just unusually beautiful and smart, you know?” “Humph.” “I love him soooo much.” She clasped her hands to her chest and sighed. “He’s the perfect man.” The boy-man’s unibrow lowered. Had she gone too far? Had she played the wrong card? “I have heard of his legendary charm.” The young sheikh eased back in his leathered chair with its scrolled handles. “I have yet to see it tonight.” “That’s my fault.” She leaned forward. Why not use the wretched boobs she’d never liked? It was for a good cause. “Your fault?” The words were murmured as his gaze dropped where she wanted it.

“Yes.” Her brain tripped along various alternatives until it hit on precisely the right one. “I took him shopping. He hates shopping.” An answering gleam in the twit’s eyes told her she’d picked correctly. “I hate shopping too.” “All men do, don’t they?” she chirped. “But I couldn’t let him out of my sight.” “His partner, Kluge, did mention Stravoudas hadn’t been present at the meetings this afternoon.” What meetings? The stray thought zoomed around in her head. Alex had said he’d finished work early. He’d walked out of a meeting? “I guess if a woman as pretty as you asked me for a favor, I’d give it.” The smarmy guy smiled a smarmy smile. “The shopping made him irritated enough, though, that his mind isn’t focused tonight as it should be. I promise you, I won’t ask him for anything else on this trip,” she cooed in a soothing voice. “I know how important this building is to you and your family.” “Yes, it is.” He shifted in his seat. “Very important. My father needs to make some decisions in the next few days.” She tipped her chest closer. “I heard there’s another competitor.” “Uh, yes.” His expression glazed as he stared at her reluctant offering. There had to be some kind of promise, something that would nail down this deal once and for all. Why not use this boy-man’s libido against him? “But I’m looking forward to traveling with my fiancé to your home. I want to see the construction of this beautiful building.”

Beady eyes jerked to her face. “You’ll be coming with Stravoudas?” “Of course.” She smiled, a deep, intimate smile she’d once seen Jade give to Antony. “How could I miss it?” “Sophia.” Alex’s voice came from behind her chair, grim and flat. Yanking her head around, she almost screamed when she saw his expression. He glared at both the emir’s son and her as if he was ready to commit murder. No, no! He was going to ruin everything. Jumping to her feet, she grabbed his arm and yanked his face to hers. “Don’t be an idiot,” she whispered in his ear. His cerulean gaze burned, a white-hot flame at the center. “You are not—” Cutting off his words was imperative. She knew PDAs were probably frowned on by the emir and his entourage, but she had no choice. Pulling on Alex’s tie, she planted an irritated kiss right on his open mouth. He hissed in surprise. Taking advantage, she pulled back and gave a blinding smile to the silent table. “You see? I can’t get enough of him.” “I can see.” A thin line of reluctant amusement ran through the young sheikh’s words. Yes, yes! This was exactly the outcome she wanted. Her stupid fake fiancé opened his mouth and added to his idiocy by glaring at his potential client’s son. “I don’t want you anywhere near my—” “Darling.” Throwing her hands around his neck, she tugged him back and stuck her tongue down his throat. What a fool he was. Couldn’t he see she was winning this deal for him? Didn’t he know her well enough to see she’d never ruin this for him?

His broad hands landed on her hips, trying to push her away. Idiot dickhead. Tightening her grip on him, she plastered her body on his. His dick was hard. She gasped in his mouth and opened her eyes. He met her gaze, his own eyes flaming with anger, yes, but something much more important and potent. Her mouth went dry at the need and desire she saw in those deep depths. A kind of desire she’d never elicited in any other man. Alex tore his attention away from her and started to do his stupid again. “I don’t want you anywhere—” “These lovebirds.” Henry’s voice boomed from the end of the table. “They can’t get enough of each other.” “I can see that.” The emir appeared to be oblivious to Alex’s anger, thank goodness. Amusement shone from his black gaze as well as his son’s. He threw a couple of words out across the table in a foreign tongue and his companions dutifully laughed. Time to escape. “If you’ll excuse us for a minute.” Sophie put on her best smile and tugged an unwilling dickhead toward the latticed arch of the doorway. “We’ll be right back.” Coarse laughter followed in their wake. “Are you crazy?” Pushing Alex into a circular window seat set deep in a stone turret, she grabbed at the floor to ceiling velvet curtains and swung them shut. The small enclave immediately plunged into darkness, only the lights of Paris streaming across the dark water of the Seine giving off any illumination. “What are you thinking?”

She saw nothing, but she felt him surround her. Heat radiated from him, filling the small space with his masculine vitality. It was as if she stood in a room with the sun, all fire and flame and fury. “You’re supposed to be the charming one around here.” She crossed her arms in front of her and took a step back into the velvet because threat emanated from him. “This is your deal.” His breathing came harsh, hard. “Henry and I did the best we could, but this is your time to shine. This is what you do, Stravoudas.” Silence rolled in the short distance between them. Not a clear, cool calm. No, this hush roared with anger and thundered with… Pain. “Alex,” she sighed, her frustration dropping away, replaced with compassion. “Talk to me. What’s going on with you?” A large hand came out of the darkness to curl around her neck and yank her into his fire. His long, lean body flamed at her side, sending her temperature zinging into space. “No talking,” he muttered, his mouth whispering across the curls at her hairline. “No more talking.” His lips brushed along her temple, slipping across her brows and then to her hot cheek. Everything inside her stilled. This wasn’t the time. This wasn’t what he should be doing or she should be allowing.

And yet, everything inside her reached out to him, yearned to take this moment and make it fill her entire life with his brightness. But this was his dream. This building. This contract. “What is going—” His wide mouth captured the beginning of her protest, swallowing her will and her words at the same time. Twining his tongue around hers, he sucked her in, causing her to hum with pleasure in one short second. He was magic. He was. Like an ancient sorcerer, he bewitched her. His lips went soft then hard. His body pulled her in and then pushed her against the stone wall. His heat wrapped around her making her drowsy with need and far more alive than she’d ever been. Shock pummeled inside her. More alive? With Alex Stravoudas? Every muscle froze. “Krotída mou.” His voice—the voice that could charm and cajole with clear intent, that could laugh and tease with delicious decadence—sounded drugged and delirious. “Kiss me back.” Her eyes popped open to see nothing except a thick darkness splashed with tiny ripples of murky starlight. The shape of his head and shoulders were all she could see in the dangerous, dusky gloom. “I have been kissing you back.” She pushed the words out in a huff. A silky chuckle came. “No, you haven’t. You haven’t given me everything.”

Give him everything? Her hands came to his chest to push him back, but before she could maneuver past him, he grabbed her wrists and pulled them above her. His big body pressed her to the wall, his warmth contrasting with the cool stone. “Sophia.” He drew her name out like he intended to relish every vowel and consonant. But in the strands of his voice wove a plea, a crooning, mournful craving that tugged at the center of her soul. His breath brushed across her mouth. “Kiss me.” He didn’t say please. Still, she felt the need in him, the same hopeful, angry pain of wanting her when he didn’t want to that she felt towards him. She shouldn’t want Alex Stravoudas. She shouldn’t like him. She shouldn’t let him win this war between them that had raged for months. This simmering brew of insults and desire, of bitter anger and violent passion. “Come on.” The ache in the two words was too much for her will or her pride. Tugging him to her was impossible with her hands clasped above her, his lean, tense body pinning her to the wall. So she went to him. On her tiptoes, she touched his neck with her lips and tongue. The slide of her body on his made him stiffen. A low groan rumbled from him as she licked his skin. He tasted of salt and musk and male. His jaw tightened as she made her way along the edge and when she reached the sharp point of his chin, she felt him swallow.

“Come here,” she said. “Let me kiss you.” Again, the unique taste of him filled her mouth. The taste of culture, with its flare of elegance mixed with richness. The kick of roughness, in the way he pierced her with his need. The wet of his mouth, the touch of his tongue. He gave her all of his heat, melting the last hold on her conviction to keep away. She let herself fall. Let herself go. Kissing Alex wasn’t just kissing. Kissing him was not like any other kiss she’d ever received or given. Kissing Alex was like kissing with her heart. Her heart. Oh, God. She gasped. A keen of bewilderment broke from her mouth before his captured hers. With a rush, he let her hands go and spread his own across her waist. She caught her breath against his lips and before she could let it out, the air clogged in her throat as he moved once more. His hands brushed up to her breasts, down to her thighs, around to her butt. He encircled her body with his big hands, melding and molding until she gasped again this time with surprise and pleasure. The want in his touch screamed in every stroke. The way he rolled her tight nipples through the silk, the way he tightened his grip on her hips and pushed her into his hardness, the way he kept kissing and stroking her mouth with his tongue.

He wanted her desperately. Alex wanted Sophie. The knowledge blasted into her, erasing every thought and emotion. The only thing she wanted was to climb into his skin, come into his heat and become one with this man. She didn’t think about her heart or her pride or her soul. He had swept past all that to the core of her. She wanted, she wanted— Bright light flashed from behind them as the curtains were yanked back. “Alex.” Henry’s loud voice boomed into their enclosed hiding place. The curtains swished back once more, closing off the sudden noise of the party moving from the dining room back to the parlor. The scent of Henry’s distinctive cologne drifted over both of them, cutting through the sexual haze. “Oh!” She jerked herself out of a suddenly loose grip. “Have you gone mad?” His partner’s voice shot through the air again, pointed and caustic. “This is a once in a lifetime deal and you’re mauling your fiancée instead of attending to the emir?” “Open the curtain.” Alex’s curt tone came in instant response. Henry whipped open the curtain with an irritated fling. Expecting a dozen curious eyes to peer in, Sophie relaxed as she realized the party had moved past. She smoothed her trembling hands down her dress, hoping the creases weren’t too apparent. “You look fine, Soph.” His friend gave her a forced smile. “No thanks to this animal.”

“Leave it alone,” her fake fiancé snarled. The other man turned and frowned. “This contract is teetering on a knife edge, Stravoudas.” “I’ll deal with the emir.” His blue eyes latched onto hers. “Don’t go near that little asshole, Sophia. Do you hear me?” A shaft of hurt shot up her spine. She’d been trying to help, dammit. “I was just—” “No where near.” He spaced the three word out like marching orders. “I don’t know why—” “Listen. Both of you.” Henry cut through the burgeoning argument with the harshness of his words and the slash of one hand. “We don’t have time for this.” “I’m telling her—” “He’s so stupid—” “Sophie.” Alex’s partner zeroed in on her. “Do you want to help us?” “Yes, of course.” The hurt pumped like a painful sore on her heart. “Then don’t go near the young sheik, okay?” “Okay,” she muttered. “She better stay far away from—” “And you.” Henry cut off the snarling male in front of him. “You focus on the emir. I’ll take care of Sophie.” Alex stared at him before shrugging and turning away from both of them. “Fine.” “Good.” Henry slid his hand around her elbow. “Do what you do best with the emir and everything will work out perfectly.”

She risked one more glance at Mr. Perfect. The change in him was astonishing. Blank blue eyes. Bland face. The lean body filled with casual grace. The hair on her neck bristled.


Chapter Fourteen

Sophie woke to the muffled chirping of two robins perched on the iron grill outside her window. The sunlight was murky, yet from the way the light traveled across her bed, it was mid-morning already. She’d slept deeply and for a long time. Surprising, considering the turmoil rolling around in her head and gut. But she’d been tired and today was the first day they didn’t have any early-morning appointments with a pastry chef, so she was due. Stretching her arms above her head, she closed her eyes and breathed in. There was something about the air in this fabulous apartment that reminded her of the richness of Paris. The faint hint of lilies combined with the lemony smell of the cleaning oil seeped over years into the wooden antiques. The whiff of yeasty brioche from the boulangerie across the street. The lingering scent of cafe au lait coming from the exquisite kitchen down the hall. Her eyes popped open.

Alex’s cafe au lait. He was gone. She knew it from the silence. From the stillness inside herself. Three days had passed since their scorching kiss at the emir’s house and she hadn’t seen a hair on his head after the moment he’d said a clipped goodnight and stomped into his bedroom that evening. Not that she cared. She’d been extremely busy filming during these last three days. Learning from and talking with some of the best pastry chefs in the world was pure joy. If she’d thrown a glance over her shoulder a time or two, it had nothing to do with looking for a tall, blond man. Pleased as punch would be how she felt when Henry had called her to tell her she wouldn’t need to attend the dinner parties with the emir any longer. Evidently, her one visitation had been so impressive she’d passed the test. In her darker moments, she wondered if it had anything to do with the flirting young sheikh and Alex’s uncontrolled anger. Perhaps Henry was cutting off any chance of a confrontation. But since she’d disliked the emir and his entourage and wanted to never meet the boy-man again, she’d been relieved. Honest. The smidgeon of guilt swimming through her thoughts during the last three days had been pulverized by dogged determination. So what if she’d promised to help Alex get this deal? She was here. Where he’d commanded her to be.

If he and Henry decided they didn’t want her help, better for her. Better for her to spend time with Will and Jake as they explored the Louvre. Better for her when she’d spent a solitary afternoon strolling along the intimate streets of Ile SaintLouis. Better for her to be on her own. She whipped off the plush, rose-colored duvet and silver silk sheets. Plopping her bare feet on the cool oak floor, she paced into the adjoining bathroom. A bathroom she’d cheerfully live in for the rest of her life. If she’d had the chance. Which she would not. A knot of regret twisted inside her. The pearled tile on the floor and walls made a girl feel she stood in a cocooning oyster. The white marble, laced with black veins, rolled around the sides of the standalone bathtub and covered the long basin with his-and-hers sinks. The silver-lined mirror matched the gleaming silver faucets. Sophie ignored the bathtub big enough for two. Turning on the shower, she stripped off her orange T-shirt and stepped into the stream of hot water. Lifting her face to the flow, she swallowed. For all the fun and work and being in Paris, a wretched coil of sadness stubbornly lodged in her throat like a burr. Ever since the kiss, a kiss that made her realize how far she’d fallen down the slope into Mr. Perfect’s allure, the burr had grown inside until it now threatened to choke her. “Stupid.” She ducked her head, letting the water wash through her long hair, wishing it would wash him from her mind and memories. “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.”

By the time she’d wrapped her bathrobe around her, combed out her wet hair, and marched her way into the kitchen, she’d made several resolutions. One. The kiss had been nothing. Look at how he had responded—with complete disinterest, as if it had been nothing. He was right. The kiss had been nothing. Two. It was a really, really good thing he had made himself scarce during the last few days. She’d been very close to doing something stupid, like maybe throwing herself at him; something Alex felt was his due with every woman he met. But now she had her feet back on the ground. Three. She only had a few more days in Paris and then one more measly month at his monstrous New York penthouse before she was free from him forever. December was one of her busiest months at the bakery. She probably wouldn’t see him much at all. The burr clogged her throat as she turned into the compact, elegant kitchen. A brown paper bag sat in the middle of the stove. She knew what it was without even opening it. A gift. Some kind of wonderful pastry. He’d left these kinds of gifts throughout the past three days. A yummy chocolate box sitting on her bedside table. A bouquet of daphnes, with their delicate pink petals, placed on her bed. A stunning, multihued silk scarf hung across her old peacoat in the hallway closet. The clog tightened and a film of tears blurred her sight. She didn’t understand him. How could he kiss her with such desperation, as if she’d become the center of his being, and then disappear for days without a word? How could he turn into the smiling, gentle man who cooked her dinner and made her laugh, when he’d started out as a grim-

faced businessman intent on using her to get a deal? How could he show her this sensitive, caring side by leaving these amazing gifts and then not want to see her or be with her? Sophie crept to the tempting bag and edged it open. Inside were two superb palmiers; one dusted with sugar, the other dipped in dark chocolate. Taking the sugared one in her hand, she bit into the puffed pastry, letting the sweetness of the caramelized sugar, mixed with the mellow nutty-flavored butter, roll across her tongue and down her throat. The pastry kissed her morning like a bright touch of sunshine. Although he wasn’t here, wasn’t with her or waiting on her or wanting her, she still felt as if he’d just kissed her. The burr in her throat melted as the rest of the palmier disappeared between her lips. Squawk! Squawk! The ring of her phone echoed down the hall from the bedroom. For a second, her mind zoomed to the thought of Alex, but common sense swamped the wish immediately. That would be Jake firming up their plans for this afternoon. Dropping the pastry, she rushed to her bedroom and grabbed the phone as it chirped its last ring. “Hey.” “Hey, yourself.” Jake’s voice came through the line, scratchy and hoarse. “You’re hungover.” “Yep,” he said with cheer. “I sure am. Will’s even worse.” “You both better be in tiptop shape this afternoon.” “We will.” He slurped some kind of drink before talking again. “I wouldn’t miss filming in the talented Monsieur Paol’s bakery.”

“I can’t wait to get there.” A shiver of excitement ran through her. To be allowed into the hallowed building of the greatest pastry chef in the world—it was almost too much to take in. “Remember to keep your focus on Paol and not on that handsome fiancé of yours.” Jake chuckled at his own jest. The fizz of connection with Alex, the fragile hope she’d allowed to bloom inside her unnoticed, the tiny, delicate imagining that perhaps Alexander the Great thought she might be perfect— “Soph?” Her assistant’s voice went hesitant. “I was kidding.” “Alex won’t be there. He’s busy.” And too perfect. Whatever he was trying to do by leaving these gifts strewn around the apartment didn’t amount to much. His actions shouldn’t be something she focused on. Sophie frowned at her reflection in the circular mirror overhanging the king-sized bed. This excitement for her business was what was important. Not a fleeting infatuation with Alex Stravoudas. Her career was what was important, not Mr. Perfect. “Soph?” “Yeah, I’m here.” She was. Totally. She’d slid for a moment; she’d let herself mope around for a few days, but now she’d found solid ground once more. Pure Pastry. Her business. The TV show. These were the only things that were important.

*** By the time she’d completed the long session at the Paol bakery, darkness had fallen on the city. Sophie was ready to get into that gloriously big tub with a nice glass of wine and call it a day. Thank goodness she didn’t have to deck herself out and go to the emir’s. Hugging Will and Jake and wishing them a safe journey home tomorrow, she pulled her peacoat around her and marched toward the apartment. All the taping was done and the only thing she had left to do in Paris was wait two more days until Alex and Henry got the emir to sign on the dotted line. Two days to explore Paris. She should be jumping for joy, licking her lips, planning her remaining time in the City of Lights. Sophie took a deep breath in, and then sighed. She didn’t want to go out tonight. Leftovers from last night’s dinner were still in the fridge and she had almost a half a bottle of wine. Since Alex would have left for the emir’s by now, that meant she’d have the enchanting apartment all to herself to wallow in… Happiness. Happiness, dammit. Another deep breath ended with another deep sigh.

Jake and Will had both told her the tapes from these past days were amazing. Freddie had called to tell her she was going to become a national star. Tamika had sent her a taped Skype message saying business was booming and Sophie’s dad was a gem to work with. Every one of her dreams about her business and her career were coming true. Sophia Charlotte Feuer should be happy. Dammit. She threw open the front door of the apartment building with a bang. “Mademoiselle.” The old snob—Marcel, that was his name—lurched out of his chair. “Please be careful of the door.” “Sorry,” she mumbled as she stomped toward the stairs. As she slid the card through the apartment door’s lock, she made herself a promise. Tomorrow, first thing, she was going to make a busy plan to explore every inch of Paris until she was exhausted. Then she’d drag herself back to this beautiful home and fall into bed with not a thought about— Alex stood at the window staring at the Eiffel Tower. His unexpected presence stunned her to an abrupt stop. “What are you doing here?” He glanced over his shoulder, throwing her a haughty look that immediately stoked her temper. “This is my family’s home?” “I meant,” she slammed the door behind her, “you’re supposed to be at the emir’s.” He shrugged. “I don’t have to be there tonight. Henry’s going through the final figures with him.” “It’s a done deal?”

The broad shoulders shrugged again. “Looks like it.” Pulling off her coat, she threw it on the nearest chair. “You don’t seem very happy about it.” “Do you want me to jump up and down in joy?” he scoffed. Turning, he walked to the other end of the room to glower down at the boulevard. “Perhaps I should scream with delight?” Sophie stared at him. “My. We are in a fantastic mood.” He stuffed his big hands in the pockets of his pants and brooded. She could tell this by the way he lowered his head, sending the flow of his golden ponytail slightly askew. How had she come to know him so well? The burr in her throat reappeared. Silence descended. A thick, uncomfortable one. One she wanted to break, but couldn’t think of anything to say to him. His hands fisted in his pockets. With a shock, she realized he wasn’t wearing his usual power suit and power tie and power shoes. She’d been so jolted by his presence and his mood, she hadn’t taken in the details of his appearance. He had on a ratty pair of jeans, almost as ratty as her favorite pair. His T-shirt was old too, navy and tattered, something that looked like he’d pulled it out of the garbage. And he wore no shoes—his big feet matched his brutish hands. “Are you all right?” The words burst from her. He swung around, a scowl on his handsome face. “I’m fine. Perfectly fine.”

“You aren’t.” “How would you know?” He marched across the room to her peacoat lying on the silk-covered curule and glared at it as if her coat were a personal affront. “Go ahead. Yell at me about hanging my coat in the closet where it belongs.” A bubble of excitement rose inside, a stupid, asinine response to this man’s moodiness, yet there it was. Fighting with Alex made her insides go frizzy. “If I started to yell about what you leave around here.” He waved at the jumble of her shoes by the side of the door before pointing at the two sweaters she’d left on the back of an antique sofa yesterday. “I’d never stop.” “Come on.” She grinned at him. “Yelling at me will make you feel better.” He kept his glare on her coat. “I’m not yelling.” “You want to. I know you do.” Fearless, she stepped into his personal space and gave him an even bigger smile. “I can take it.” When he finally lifted his gaze to meet hers, the turmoil in his eyes—the agitated azure fighting with the churning cerulean—made her take a step back. The smile fell off her face. “I don’t need to feel better.” He paced to the window and stared at the Eiffel Tower once more. “I feel fine as it is.” Maybe she had it all wrong, but by the unfamiliar slump of his broad shoulders, she didn’t think so. Alex was hurting. He was troubled.

A flash of intense desire shot through her. Not a desire for his kiss or his body. Rather, this was an intense desire to help him, make it, whatever it was, right for him. “Let’s go out.” She grabbed her coat and jerked it back on. “Put on some shoes.” “I don’t want to go anywhere,” he growled. “Don’t be a spoilsport.” Yanking open the closet door, she pulled out his trench coat. “Here. Put this on. We’re leaving.” “Because you say so?” “Correct.” Sophie focused on his big, bare feet because she didn’t want to stare into those turbulent eyes. She might do something insane like pull him to her mouth and kiss him happy. “Where are your shoes?” “Where shoes should be. In my bedroom closet.” He sighed and with a twitchy turn, strode toward the hallway. “All right. We’ll go out. I suppose I need to feed you anyway.” “Hey!” Was that a low chuckle she heard drifting down the hallway? Her heart lifted. Within a few minutes, they were standing on the sidewalk, with Marcel waving a goodbye from the open door. The night air was crisp, yet there was no rain and only a mellow wind. “It’s lovely outside,” she ventured. “You’re a cheery little thing tonight, aren’t you?” He walked off, up the street. Sophie huffed, but quickened her pace and soon drew level with him, even though she had to take two steps for every one of his. “Where are we going?”

“To feed you.” He darted a look her way and relief swept through her when she noticed the edge of his mouth lift, as if he were attempting to suppress a smile. “Where?” “Cheerful and demanding.” The wind lifted a long curl of his hair, raising it into the light of a streetlamp, turning the color from dusky to gold. “An interesting combination for you, Sophia.” Another shot at her. He was feeling better. Relief went straight to giddy. “You still haven’t answered the question.” “Do you want fancy or not?” Sophie inspected the jeans she’d changed into after finishing with the Paol taping. Then she looked over at his. “I don’t think either of us is dressed for fancy.” “Agreed.” A real, honest-to-goodness grin slid across his face. “I know exactly where we’re going.” “Which is…where?” “You’ll have to wait and see.” His grin widened when she slapped his arm. “See. You’re feeling better already.” She smiled back. A sliver of the turmoil rolled into his eyes once more and his mouth tightened. Oh, crud. She smacked his arm again. “Not that I care or anything.” The rigidity of his jaw loosened and a wry smile crept across his face. “Or anything.” There was something in his gaze that made her itchy. She hadn’t said anything particularly important, had she? Why was he staring at her so hard?

“What?” she said. “Do I have something on my face?” “Nope.” He turned away to stare down the street instead. “I hope you’re game for a walk.” They walked. Past the imposing Palais Bourbone, where Alex told her the French Assembly met, over the well-lit Pont de la Concorde and into the Place de la Concorde. The needled Obelisque rose high into the black sky, the lights at the bottom making it appear like a flaming sword slashing into heaven. Cars buzzed around the circle, horns honking. Behind it stretched the Champs-Élysées, lighted in dazzling, holiday brilliance. A rush of excitement, of being alive, of being with Alex swept through her. She was glad she wasn’t alone in the apartment, drinking her wine and pouting in the marble tub. “This is wonderful.” Gushing. That was pure gushing. Heat filled her cheeks. He glanced her way, a quizzical look on his face, yet he didn’t seem to catch on to her embarrassment. “Yeah. I’ve always loved Paris.” It wasn’t the city. It was being with him in this beautiful city. But she wasn’t going to gush that out, too. They walked another few blocks before turning onto a street lit like a Christmas tree. “Oh.” Sophie stared all around her. Building after building glowed with colored lights. A dazzling mix that made her think of medieval stained glass infused with a futuristic light show. “Thought you’d enjoy it.” He gave her a smug grin.

This place he’d brought her to was so amazing, she couldn’t begrudge him that grin. “It’s beautiful.” He stared at her and his narrowed gaze drew her own away from the beauty. Something moved in his eyes. A heated, bewildered something. “Alex?” she whispered. “Come on.” He swiveled around and started down the sidewalk. “Let’s get you something to eat.” A flash of disappointment cracked through her along with a rumble of confusion. Did she honestly want to know what that emotion was in his eyes? Did she truly want to push further into this baffling, complex relationship they’d developed between them? Better to leave it alone. Sophie tugged the edges of her coat closer and followed him. This time, she didn’t gallop to his side. Better to stay back and stay safe. She’d been expecting a family bistro or a sidewalk cafe. Instead, he stopped in front of a tiny, battered storefront painted a dark green. “Falafel?” she said. “Oui.” A big hand pushed at the center of her back and she found herself at the end of a winding line of people. “Middle Eastern food in Paris?” She glanced at him. “Haven’t you had enough of that with your emir?” “My emir?” His mouth twisted and the turbulence flared in his eyes again.

She could have kicked herself. “Never mind. This sounds good.” “This is an awesome place.” He stuck one hand in his pocket, his gaze centered on the line in front of them. “I come here every time I’m in Paris.” “We’re not going in?” “We’ll eat as we walk.” Familiar irritation swamped her desire to soothe his troubles. Tugging on his trench coat, she got his attention. “Hey, Mr. Arrogant.” Golden brows rose. “You have to ask me if that’s what I want to do before deciding.” An older woman standing ahead of them laughed. “Why?” His face filled with confusion. “I know what you’ll enjoy and I know Paris.” “Because I appreciate being asked.” “Why won’t you trust me, krotída mou?” Leaning down, he shocked her with a quick kiss on her nose. “I know you won’t like the restaurant—it’s crowded and noisy.” “But I—” “I also know you want to see as much as you can and sitting in a tiny restaurant will frustrate you.” “Maybe, but—” “Okay. Okay.” He heaved a deep sigh and closed his eyes as if begging for patience from on high. “Sophia.”

He was seriously cute when put out. Aggravation welled in his voice and yet, there was something else there, too. Affection. She smiled even though he couldn’t see her. “Yes?” “I think you’ll love the best falafel in the world. In my opinion, this restaurant has the best.” His blue eyes blinked open, filled with exaggerated charm. She managed to wipe the smile off her face just in time, but a chuckle escaped her although she tried to stifle it. She shouldn’t let him off the hook this easy. Except damn. The guy was too good at what he did. And it was Paris. And she was happy. All right. Capitulation. “This looks fine. Plus, I love falafels.” He blessed her with one of his smiles that lit a fire inside her. “We could go in and eat. Still, there’s a lot I want to show you tonight and I was thinking—” “Let’s walk and eat at the same time.” The woman in line laughed again, as she gave them both a wink. “Perfect.” His laugh joined in, the real laugh that told her this was the real Alex standing before her. The queue whittled down until it was their turn. Big containers of fresh tomatoes, lettuce, and a plethora of other fillings lined the stand as two men worked the outside line and the restaurant. “What do you want?” Alex pulled his leather wallet from his back pocket. “My turn.” His blue gaze latched onto hers. “Let me feed you.” “I can—”

“Sophia.” He kept staring at her with a fierce sort of look. “I like doing it.” A fierce sort of feeling shot straight into her heart, taking her breath along with it. “Okay.” Another brilliant smile from him sucked all thoughts and emotions from her, leaving only a snuffling little fear and a big blast of…hope. Hope? Hope for what, Sophie? Her heart clunked in her chest. Oh, no. No. She had no desire to peer over this cliff standing in front of her and see what lay far down below. This night was merely her friendly attempt to get him out of his doldrums. Nothing more. Tease. Play. Friends. That’s it. Walking away with a paper-wrapped pita stuffed with chickpea balls, cucumbers, and hummus, she forced a grin and went back to the tease. “See?” “What see?” He bit into his own sandwich with relish. “It isn’t too hard to work together instead of telling the other person what to do.” Chewing on his food, he actually appeared thoughtful for a moment. Then he gave her a glance, his blue gaze no longer turbulent. Now it was filled with mischief. “It also isn’t hard to follow along with a guy when he knows what he’s doing.” Happiness sprang right into her heart, brushing away the disturbing emotions she’d been wrangling with during the last few minutes. She’d successfully pulled him out of his doldrums and now he was so cheerful, he’d jumped into their favorite game of baiting each other without even a grumble or a growl.

“But how do I know if he knows what he’s doing?” she shot right back. “By trusting him.” His words landed right between them and both of their gaits stuttered. Trusting Alex. Sophie stuffed the last of the sandwich in her mouth and concentrated on the tangy taste instead of the thoughts buzzing in her head. “So,” he coughed. “Now we’ll do what I did when I was a kid.” She swallowed. “Get in trouble?” He laughed, his real one again, and the sound swept away the awkwardness to her instant relief. “No, no. I was a good kid.” Glancing at him as they walked, she caught the slight tightening of his jaw when he continued. “Most of the time.” There’d be no slipping back into glum while she was around. “Tell me what you did here.” They’d moved through the crowds to the beginning of one of the brightly lit buildings. His big hand suddenly grabbed hers and tugged her under an arch of the roof. A sky of blinking white lights lit every inch of the cupola making her feel like she stood at the top of the heavens. “Look,” he said. Her gaze dropped to the first department store window and she gasped. “Oh, my.”

The window was filled with little dancing mechanical bears, prancing above a silver moons and stars. A giant stuffed Santa nodded back and forth on his chair and the recorded sound of ho, ho, ho pumped from the speakers lining the shop’s roof. “At the risk of getting yelled at for being an unneeded guide…” His eyes twinkled even more than the lights above them. She sneered so she wouldn’t reward him with a smile. “If you must, go on.” “The French call what we’re doing lèche-vitrine.” A second. Another. She exaggerated the sneer. “I bite. What does that mean?” “You bite, huh?” He gave her a sly smile. “Good to know.” “Alex.” She couldn’t help herself. She laughed. “Tell me.” Leaning in, he whispered, “It literally means window licking.” Sophie was almost positive his lips touched the shell of her ear. The touch vibrated down her neck and spine and made her whole body quiver. He was doing it again, turning on the charm, making her want when she’d stated she didn’t want. But she did. She really did. She kept her gaze locked onto the Santa. “Nothing to say?” His voice whispered once more, his breath hot on her skin. “This happens every Christmas?” She intentionally made her voice bright and abrasive. He froze, and yet, he breathed on her one more time, a warm mist of enchantment that could easily ensnare her if she let it. The Santa ho, ho, ho’d.

“Interesting.” He moved back and she sucked in a breath of relief. “Not going to touch the window licking, are we?” “Nope.” Now that he was a safer distance away, she chanced a look at him. He was still in seduction mode. His eyes glowed with hot heat and his mouth held the now familiar sultry slant. “Not licking anything tonight.” Could she be any clearer? He stared at her as the crowd swept around them: children laughing, mothers cooing, fathers instructing. A young couple bumped into him and apologized. An old lady strutted by with a dozen packages. “Okay,” he finally said. “Got it.” A silly slice of depression stole into her heart. She ignored it. “I’ll ask again, they do this every Christmas season?” He reached out and took her hand and tugged her towards the next window. It was a friendly touch, not a possessive one, and the depression grew inside her. Silly. Stupid. “Yep.” Alex smiled at her, his real smile. Apparently he wasn’t too upset about her subtle rejection. “My sisters and I would campaign every year to come over during the holidays.” She tried to shake herself back into happy mode. “You came every year?” “Not every.” He dragged her to the next window display. A jeweled frog, perched on a lily pad, stared at a princess dressed in pink chiffon. A gold ball bounced on her hand, and the frog’s lips opened and closed every time the ball moved. “Only a few, actually.”

“But you loved every time.” She gazed at him, noting the warm smile of memories on his wide mouth, the shine of remembered happiness in his eyes. Her heart did a ping-ping inside her and she didn’t know if it was a warning or an answer. “Sure.” He kept his focus on the display as his smile grew. “What kid wouldn’t?” “You’re going to bring your kids here.” A shadow passed across his eyes, and she cursed herself. What stupidity to bring back memories of Melanie and all the dreams he’d had. Doing the right thing didn’t mean she wasn’t responsible for the hurt she’d caused him. “I’m sorry—” “No, Sophia.” His hand moved from the dip in her back to the nape of her neck. He took a step closer and his heat enveloped her, causing her skin to flush. She glanced away because she didn’t want to reveal what he did to her. “Look at me.” She kept staring at the shiny frog and his opening, closing mouth. A long finger stole under her chin and nudged her gaze to meet his. His eyes were now serious. No happy memories or thoughts of seduction shining in them. Dejection swamped her. She’d only wanted to make him happy, to pull him out of his mood. However, with some simple, unthinking words, she’d ruined it. “I’m sorry—” “Stop talking for once.” His voice came low and rough. The command automatically made her stiffen. Her gaze narrowed. He barked a short laugh. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I don’t have—” His big paw wrapped around her mouth and she garbled to a stop. Before she could smack him, his other arm pulled her into his warm body. Sophie scowled, but that’s all she could do. “You were right about Melanie.” Her scowl turned to wide-eyed astonishment. “I'm covering your mouth because I don’t want to deal with your crowing and gloating.” A crooked grin was his response to more unintelligible garble coming from beneath his hand. “Take the win graciously, krotída mou.” She contemplated biting his hand. After all, she had warned him. His words stopped her. “Melanie and I weren’t meant to be together.” The depressed heart inside her flipped over and began beating like a clanging drum. Beating for what? Beating for whom?


Chapter Fifteen

“Are you tired?” Alex glanced at Sophia as they walked away from the window displays. She sipped on the last of the hot chocolate he’d bought her as if she were going to make it last until New Year’s Day. He’d finished his within a couple of minutes, all the while thinking about her eyes. Not about Melanie. Not about his admission an hour ago that Sophia had been right. Not about his business or his family or any of the other parts of his life he usually spent his time contemplating. Nope. He smirked at himself. Who would have thought Alex Stravoudas would someday be daydreaming about Sophia Feuer’s eyes? And who would have thought Alex Stravoudas would be turned down over and over again by Sophia Feuer and still not get the message? His grand-pere would mutter the word débile under his breath. His father would have roared ilithios at him.

A pathetic idiot. He’d agree with both of them. But it didn’t stop him from thinking about her eyes. And obviously, it didn’t stop him from continuing to put himself right in front of another Sophia slap. “Why are you smirking?” Those brown eyes sparked with immediate indignation. “I can keep up with you.” “That wasn’t the question I asked you. I know you can keep up with me.” The words formed in his head once more like a drumbeat. I know you can keep up with me. He eyed her. “I’m not tired.” She eyed him back, her usual look of stubborn independence written all over her face. Sophia Feuer was as mentally tough as he was. She was easily as smart. Plus, her BS detector never failed to call him on any of the customary tactics he used to charm everyone else into his plans. Amazingly, impossibly, he enjoyed every minute with her. The realization shocked him because he’d never thought he’d want a woman who was as strong and smart as he was. He’d slid into the role of caretaker after his dad’s death and he’d never shed it. He instinctively took care of every woman around him. Only Sophia, of all the women in his life, objected to his care and his plans.

Not knowing how to process whether this was good or not, he swept the paper cup out of her hand and drank the last of her chocolate. The liquid was no longer hot, only semi-warm, and the effect made the notes of ginger and spice even tastier. “Hey.” His firecracker batted his arm. “That was mine.” “You were drinking too slow.” He threw the cup away and grabbed her hand. “We’ve got places to go, Mademoiselle.” He hustled her all the way to the Seine and didn’t decrease his pace until they got to the cobblestoned pathway running along the river. Compared to the crowds they’d left on Champs-Élysées, there were few people around. The surge of the water's flow could be heard here and the street lamps gave off a cheery gleam. “Where are we going?” she said, her breath a bit rushed. Alex slanted a devilish look at her and got her usual annoyed look back. But now he saw the layer of camaraderie too. A bright glow settled inside of him, even though her continued rejection still hurt. He wasn’t used to rejection. Instant frustration twisted around the bright glow, making him feel all muddled inside. She made him all muddled inside. The knowledge pushed him to accelerate his pace even more. She puffed by his side and, remarkably, didn’t voice a complaint. He led her across Pont de l’Alma, its modern lines a contrast to the glory of the ancient buildings surrounding it. Finally, their destination came into view. The tower rose

into the sky, bathed in golden light. Just as they hit the Left Bank, as he’d hoped, the tower began its hourly show. “Oh.” She stopped and stared at the white shimmering lights flickering across the entire tower. “Oh!” “That seems to be your response to almost everything in Paris,” he teased. “Not everything.” Her narrowed gaze flashed to him, looking him up and down in a clear message. A message he should have laughed at, should have simply shrugged off. Still, somewhere along the way into this convoluted relationship with Sophia, he’d begun to care what she thought of him. Care a lot. A throb of hurt coursed through him. Then, she laughed. One of her belly laughs that made him want to snatch her near and kiss her until she was breathless from him and not the pace of his walking. Muddled was not the word. Muddled gave a person the sense that nothing much was at stake. Tortured. The word popped into his head. A line of sweat immediately coated his spine. “Come on.” He waved at her, keeping a yard between them, the temptation too great, the fear of what she did to him too stark. “If you’re going to act like a child, I have just the place for you.”

Sophia scrunched her nose at him, but obediently followed as he walked the last few blocks to the park surrounding the tower. As he expected, the fancy, elaborate merrygo-round was there, exactly as it had always been in his childhood visits at Christmas. The organ pumped out a stately tune as the gaily painted horses bobbed up and down in the spill of light. On top of the carousal, a bright golden ball twirled around and around, making him as dizzy as it had when he’d been a child. “You must have loved this as a kid.” She came up to stand by him. “As a kid?” He finally let himself touch her, taking her hand, because he’d be safe here in a sea of chattering tourists. “I love it now.” Laughing, she followed his lead and gamely scrambled onto a white horse painted with a stream of red roses on its neck. His steed was almost as impressive, a black stallion with purple reins and saddle. The organ lurched into another rousing tune and they began to move, faster and faster. Alex kept his focus on her, taking in her pleasure as her little round face lit with childlike enchantment. As her cocoa eyes heated with warm delight. As her ponytail bounced on her back, a gleam of dark magic. He wanted her mouth on his. He wanted those eyes warmed by him. He wanted to take her hair down and run his fingers through the silky strands. “What?” she yelled above the music. “Do I have something on my face?” Alex shook his head. At her. And at his incessant need. She’d said no to his kiss. No to his cock. No to any licking of any kind.

No. Get it, Stravoudas? No. The organ wound down and the ride slowly came to a halt. They both climbed off their horses and jumped from the platform at the same time, landing too close to each other for his liking. He took off across the dead grass and onto the sidewalk, setting a punishing pace, even for him. “Where are we going now?” She raced behind him, panting. “Back to the apartment,” he ground out. Sexual tension boiled inside, blurring his irritated affection into a foaming mass of frustration. He couldn’t be with her anymore. He didn’t want to watch her and want her. Not anymore. “Hey.” A tiny hand grabbed his elbow and tugged at him. He kept walking. “Hey!” The tug became a yank. For such a little thing, she was strong. Baking all day, every day, meant she had sculpted shoulders and firm arms. His imagination instantly took over and blasted him a picture of her naked: her back turned slightly away, her shoulders sloping into languid arms, so loose on her body he saw the beginning of her breasts. The erection was inevitable. Again, here he was, walking down a street acting like a fool. Another yank pulled him to a complete stop and she foolishly poked her face right into his. “What is wrong with you?” Frustration zipped from bubbling to a full-on boil. But he tried. He tried to be a gentleman. “Let me go.”

“No.” A concerned frown crossed her face. “I want to help.” “No, you don’t.” His voice came hoarse and he realized he panted too. Like he raced toward a goal he could never achieve. “Of course I do.” Her bow mouth pouted and he thought the top of both of his heads might blow past the tower looming in the background. “Tell me what’s wrong.” She didn’t understand his meaning. If she did, she’d be running away from him. Before he could shout at her, tell her she needed to let him go before he took, the wail of a single violin pierced through their argument. Along with it came the whip of the night wind, a sprinkle of rain misting on the edge. Neither cooled his temper or his lust. The rain only reminded him of how hot he was for this woman who kept saying she didn’t want him. The music? The music made it all ten times worse. The violinist stood up the path from them, eyes closed, lost in the song and in the emotion. Alex didn’t recognize the melody, but he did recognize the emotion welling in the tune. Longing. “Nothing is wrong.” He pulled his arm out of her grasp. Turning away from her, he looked around, trying to find his way out of intense desire. To his amazement, there weren’t any tourists near them. No laughing Parisians with their children either. No cover, no crowd to fade into, no hope of keeping this inside. Only him and Sophia. And the wail of the violin.

“We’ll dance.” She grasped his arm once more and swung to stand right in front of him. Instant rage at the memory of another one of her rejections surged into his blood. Leaning closer, he spat the heated words right into her determined face. “You don’t want to dance with me.” “I do.” A flutter of the same memory must have crossed her mind because her mouth firmed. “I’m sorry I didn’t at our engagement party, yet now I do.” “You were very clear.” He tried to tear himself away, but her hands tightened on his arm and the anger inside wouldn’t let him leave until he’d spilled it out. “We wouldn’t fit, you said. I remember.” “We’ll fit now.” Her words were strong. The violin’s plaintive song rose in a poignant plea. The wind kissed his skin with the soft touch of rain. As he glared into Sophia’s cocoa eyes, all Alex wanted to do was stop this constant tug inside him between want and anger. She took his hand and lifted her own to his hunched shoulder. “Come on,” she said. “We can do this.” Moving into the circle of his body, she seemed to slide right into an empty niche he hadn’t even realized he possessed. An empty spot inside himself that had waited for this round, stubborn spirit to fill. He sucked in a deep breath.

“Alex.” She glanced up, her expression alive with the firecracker soul he’d come to know so well. “Move.” Her breasts and hips were covered in layers of cotton and wool. His trench coat was firmly tied and he had his own layers of cotton and denim beneath. Every cell in his body felt her warmth and heat, though. Felt her sex and seductive call. He wanted to move. Move inside her over and over again. She couldn’t know what she did to him. If she did, she’d be a block away, walking quickly toward the apartment and safety. “Sophia. You don’t want to do this.” “I do.” Her stubborn chin lifted. “Put your arms around me.” All gentlemanly walls broke loose inside him. He grabbed her hips in a tight grip, yanking her closer. His glare met two wide brown eyes. “This isn’t about dancing,” he snarled. “Do you understand me?” The violin suddenly stopped on a discordant chord. The musician coughed before shuffling off into the darkness. She took a step back. “You ruined it.” “Right.” He laughed, harsh and low. “Just keep telling yourself that.” Another step back. “Let go of me.” “Sure.” Alex dropped his hands like she was a fizzling, out-of-control explosive. “Whatever you want.” Turning, he strode out of the park, past a group of chattering Chinese tourists, down the wide sidewalk. Her hand grabbed his elbow and wrenched him around once more. “I don’t understand you,” she wailed.

“I think you understand me very well.” He tried to shake her off, but she clung. “I don’t want to dance with you, Sophia. I want to fuck you.” Her bow mouth dropped open. “This can’t be a surprise to you.” He jerked his arm again and this time she let him go. “You’ve been clear you don’t want me, however.” “I didn’t—” “And that’s fine with me,” he gritted. “It’s not like I don’t have other options.” His last words were all bravado, but he’d be damned before he gave this woman any more of his pride or himself. The only thing he wanted to do was go back to his family’s place and drink an entire bottle of wine. Or maybe two. Then he’d forget about the driving need he had for this woman and along with it, the driving disquiet he felt about signing with the emir. Skatá, it would be better if he had a large jug of ouzo to drown himself in. He’d be oblivious for days. He should go to Greece, to his bolthole. Jamming the thought to the back of his brain, he turned to stalk away. “Alex.” He still felt a bolt of shock when she said his nickname. The way she licked it at the beginning and flicked it at the end. The shock stopped him and he looked over reluctantly.

Her plump hands were clenched in front of her, her eyes dark and desperate. Before he could wrap his mind around what that meant, she glanced away, her long lashes hiding her gaze from him. “What?” His exasperation exploded in the one word. “That’s the problem.” He turned to face her fully. “What’s the problem?” “You have so many other options.” Her hands flew to her mouth as if the words shouldn’t have been said. He frowned. What the hell? Hadn’t she noticed that since she’d arrived on demand in his life, he hadn’t paid any attention to any other female to the point that all he now wanted was her? “Have I been running around with other women while you’ve been with me, Sophia?” “No.” She sighed. “But that’s not really the point.” “It is the point.” He shoved his hands in his pockets before he reached over to shake her. “There’s another point too.” “What?” Her hands fluttered down to her pockets. “It’s not like you don’t also have other options.” He sneered as the memories flooded his jealous brain. “That Frenchman. The emir’s son. Hell, my partner would say yes to you in a moment.” “I don’t want any of them.”

“And you don’t want me.” Alex was done with this conversation because it was going officially nowhere. He twisted away from her and aimed his sights on the street that led to home. “I do, Alex.” The words were said so faintly and hesitantly, he almost missed them. “You know I do.” Maybe his ears almost missed the confession, but his heart didn’t. He swiveled around to stare at her. “Come on.” Her lips pursed. “Look how I kiss you.” The movement of her mouth blew back the memories of the passion of her response. Along with the memories came his own passion. His blood heated against his will and his damn erection surged, even though he wanted to feel nothing more than coldness for this woman. “Yet, Sophia, you reject me every time.” “I know.” She hesitated, a frown crossing her brow. “Because I’m scared.” This confession blew him skyward. “What? You’re scared of me?” Her bow mouth twisted. “You’re too much for me, Alex.” A bark of laughter escaped him. This, this from a woman who’d flipped his world into the air and twirled it around on the tip of her finger. Twirled and twirled until he’d become so dizzy he couldn’t figure out where he should be and what he should be. “Don’t laugh at me.” His firecracker bristled and fizzed. Marching right into her crackling energy, he leaned in to stare directly into her cocoa eyes. “You’re too much for me too, Sophie.” Her eyes widened, a flicker of affection springing to life. “What?”

“You heard me.” He hovered over her, letting her into him. “You blew everything in my life up.” “I know.” Her gaze grew dim with misery. “I appreciate what you said earlier, but I’m still sorry—” “And I’m glad you did, Sophie.” He made himself look straight at her. “Honestly?” The misery swept away and the chocolate warmth came back. “Yeah.” They stood under the tower, the city for lovers surrounding them in a sparkle of hope, a sprinkle of rain, a sliver of desire. Her brows finally lifted. “You called me Sophie. Twice.” “It seemed like now was a good time.” He couldn’t help the glance down. Her mouth wasn’t glossy with lipstick. It didn’t beckon with artificial curves. All her little mouth did was be there; natural and wonderful. “Kiss me,” the little mouth whispered. He looked back into her eyes. “This time I won’t stop at a kiss, krotída mou.” A thousand emotions and thoughts brushed across her face and he held his breath. He felt as if this moment, this time, was more important than any other single second of his life. His brain yelled at him to say something smooth and charming. His erection yelled at him to take the kiss and everything else. His heart stuttered.

She smiled, a shy, lovely smile that twisted his heart inside his chest and flipped it over for good measure. “Okay.” With one word, his firecracker had launched him right past the moon and into the burning embrace of the sun.


Chapter Sixteen

Her lover was beautiful. She’d known he would be. After all, he was The Perfect Man. Yet she hadn’t realized the sight of Alex naked would make her want to lie back on his bed and spend the rest of her life ogling. He glanced at her as he dropped his boxers on the floor. His wide mouth held the sultry slant she’d grown to need and his eyes gleamed in the shadowed bedroom, reflecting the glow of the streetlights outside. “Like what you see?” The words were sly along with his smile, but she caught the whisper of vulnerability underneath. Or she thought she did. Or maybe she was completely crazy. Because this was Alexander the Great. A man who could have any woman he wanted. Including her. The thought made her grumpy, which was much better than feeling overwhelmed by his magnificence. “Dropping your clothes on the floor, Stravoudas? How messy. Tuttut.”

He looked down and then back at her. The sly smile widened. “Another change you’ve made in me. I can’t wait to see what you do next.” Sophie clutched the silver sateen duvet to her chest and bit her lower lip. She didn’t know if she wanted to do anything next. Because if she did, her heart whispered, this whole thing, this whole relationship could devastate her. But she’d promised. And if she reneged, Alex would be more than mad. He’d be hurt. Why couldn’t she just let this happen as she had with her smattering of other boyfriends? She’d never felt any real anxiety about sex. Not really. Not much. She’d made sure the lights were out and she’d focused on the kissing and everything had always seemed to go fine. Why was she making this so difficult? The lights were out, mostly, though she certainly had an eyeful of perfect Alex. He would come over and kiss her soon. He was only a man. Like every other man. Except he wasn’t. The punch of this realization made her heart bound around in her chest while her skin went cold. This wasn’t about sex for her. Not at all. This was something far more important, her heart wailed. This further realization made her breath freeze in her throat.

“Sophie?” He paced toward the bed, his shoulders appearing much broader naked than they did in a suit coat. The long, lean length of him staggered her: the muscularity of his biceps, the roll of his angular hips, the sinewy strength of his thighs. “What are you thinking?” When he’d kissed her by the Eiffel Tower, she’d been totally in. His kiss had been soft and sweet, and her brain and body melted right into his mouth. She’d been sure, absolutely sure. When he’d finally lifted his head and took her shaking hand in his, she was in a daze of desire. She’d floated down the street with him, past Marcel, and right up the stairs in a fog of lust so strong she imagined seeing golden shimmering strings of passion binding her to Alex’s side. Even when he’d opened the front door and ushered her into his family’s gorgeous home, she hadn’t felt a frisson of doubt. Not until he’d gently nudged her coat off of her and run his hands down her body did the slinking awful feeling, the familiar ache of knowing she wasn’t perfect, come over her. Her hands tightened on the bedcovers. Alex stopped. The muscles on his shoulders went taut and the big hands at his sides clenched. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing.” His gaze penetrated the shadowed room, piercing and intent. “Is it birth control?” He walked to the antique bedside table and pulled out a drawer. A shower of silver packets spilled onto the duvet.

“You keep condoms in your mother’s home?” She tried for outrage, but the confusing mix of emotions inside her made the sentence sound weak instead of accusing. “Only when you’re around.” He slid the oak drawer shut. “You were expecting to get lucky, huh?” She pulled humor around her like armor. Still, a pinprick of anger suddenly pulsed. Of course, he thought he’d get lucky. He always got lucky. “Hoping.” He looked at her again, the drift of his ponytail sliding across one shoulder. “Let’s get something straight right now. About Melanie.” Her tongue cleaved to her mouth at the name. When Alex kissed her and touched her and smiled at her, she forgot. Her best friend seemed as far away as the moon, as far away as the North Star. Disquiet about having sex with Alex now turned into outright dread. How could she think of sleeping with this man when he’d been in her best friend’s bed only a few months— “Melanie and I never slept together.” Leaning over, he swiped the pile of condoms off the bed and placed them on the table, near enough to grab for when needed. “Not once.” A stunned silence fell between them. “What?” she finally croaked. “She never told me that.” “I told her to keep it between ourselves.” He brushed a hand through his curls, the action highlighting the breadth of his hands. “I wanted to wait. I thought it was the thing to do. The right thing to do.”

Sophie stared at him, wishing for once that a bedroom light was on when she was naked with a man. She needed to see his face and his eyes to know how to respond. But she couldn’t see enough to read him, so she didn’t say anything. “Which tells you something, doesn’t it?” His voice went wry. “There’s no possible way I can wait with you. Not one more day.” The lust in his voice made her flush with an answering response, yet along with it came a prick of pain. He’d wanted to wait with Melanie because it was the right thing to do. What did that mean about her? “Sophie?” He now sounded bewildered. “Say something.” Say something? Like…I think this might be a mistake even though I really want you. Something like that? “You know I want you.” Alex didn’t move toward her. She felt his heat, though, his hot desire reaching for her. “Only you, krotída mou.” The hoarse statement arrowed right into her jumbled heart, but it wasn’t enough to quiet the memory, the time when she hadn’t been wanted, she’d been laughed at. This wasn’t his issue, however; it wasn’t something she should be bringing into this room. “I want you, too.” Her whispered words were the only thing she could think to say. A sigh of relief came from him and he took a step toward the bed. She pulled the covers closer with an instinctive tug. He stopped cold.

She’d managed to hide her growing disquiet as he’d taken her hand and led her down the hall to his bedroom. Scooting into the adjoining bathroom, she’d undressed without looking at herself in the mirror. When she’d gathered her courage, along with a long, plush towel wrapped around her body, and opened the door, she’d found the room empty. By the time he’d come back with a bottle of wine and two crystal glasses, she’d been safely under wraps in the bed. “Sophie?” His hands opened and closed, drawing her gaze to his hips and pelvis. Shadows concealed his masculinity, but she could sense the power and need. “Are you having second thoughts?” he said, his voice raw. “N-no.” He cursed, a rough, foreign word that wasn’t his usual smooth French. “You don’t sound very convincing.” With an abrupt jerk, he turned, bent down, and grabbed his jeans. Yanking herself into a sitting position, she scrambled for something to say. Nerves and fear turned her words into an accusation. “If you would just come here and kiss me, I’ll be fine.” He straightened, his back still to her. Now she had to contend with all the perfection of his other side: the bunched tenseness of his triceps, the sleek line of his spine leading her down to the taut excellence of his butt. She wanted him. So much. Why wouldn’t he come over here and kiss her?

Sighing, his shoulders drooped. “I’m not going to hold you to a promise you don’t want to keep.” “I do want to keep it.” She did, didn’t she? Frustration balled inside of her like a tight fist. “All you have to do is kiss me and I’ll be good.” He glanced at her, his jaw tense. “I don’t want you to be fine. And I don’t want you to be good.” “What do you want from me then?” She threw her hands in the air, forgetting about her naked body for a moment. The duvet slid down. Alex’s gaze zeroed in with intensity. She gasped and grabbed, covering herself once more. “Wait a minute.” Swiveling around, he dropped his jeans and paced to the edge of the bed to kneel on the mattress. His hands came down right beside her hips. “This is all about the tragic story, isn’t it?” “No, it’s not.” She closed her eyes, concealing herself from his sharp gaze. “Kiss me.” Silence fell between them, filled only by his breathing. She felt its warmth on her skin and the heat of his body surrounding her. Pursing her lips, she eased forward, only wanting his kiss and then the sex. He didn’t take the hint. “Tell me.” Irritation and something more, something hot and hard landed inside her. Her eyes popped open. “Any other guy would have been all over me by now.”

“Yeah?” He propped himself back on his heels and crossed his arms. “I’m not like other guys, I guess.” He guessed? She knew. The thought shook her and irritation went right into anger. “Okay. If you don’t want sex, I’ll leave.” “Be my guest.” He eased off the bed and ambled to the door. The glass chandelier overhead burst into light. Alex leaned on the silk-covered wall, his arms at his sides, covering nothing. His mouth wasn’t sultry with need or grim with judgment or quirking with amusement. His gaze wasn't filled with animosity or laughter or sexual desire. He gave her nothing. Nothing to go on. “Turn off the light,” she demanded. How could the magic between them change to ugly so fast? Only an hour ago, she would have done anything with this man. Now all she wanted to do was hit him. “Come on, Sophie.” His words were silky with challenge. “Get out of the bed. Come over here and either kiss me or walk out the door. Your choice.” He wanted everything from her. He’d told her before. Why hadn’t she listened? “No.” “I was right.” He kept staring at her. “The tragic story.” She scowled at him. He stared back, nothing in his eyes but a question. “There isn’t any tragic story,” she finally said. “Then we’re going to have a long night staring at each other in this bright light.”

Sophie dropped her gaze to her clenched hands and white knuckles. “Go into the bathroom and I’ll be out of here in a flash.” “Nope. Not going to happen.” A wash of emotions rose inside her, fury and fear mixed with an awful sense of being crushed. They filled her with a rage she hadn’t wrestled with in years, in more than a decade. “You are so stupid.” All he gave her was a passive grunt. She felt like a child, wanting to throw a temper tantrum, wanting to throw things at him until he’d go away. “It’s nothing.” She lifted her gaze to his perfection, giving it and him her best glare. His expression was completely calm. “If the story is nothing, come over here and kiss me.” Her breathing now filled the silence. Harsh and distraught. Dammit. Distraught. “Why are you doing this?” “Because I’m your friend. Before anything else, I’m your friend.” His words were so simple, so solid. They slid right into her soul and the tight ball of rage loosened. Shocked, tears came to her eyes. “Sophie.” He straightened. “Don’t cry.” “I can’t help it.” Keeping one hand clutched on the sheet, she swept the other across her cheeks. Pacing to the bed, he slipped beneath the covers and slid right to her side. “Hey,” he murmured.

“Hey, yourself.” She found herself nestled in the curve of his body, her wet cheek resting on his warm skin. A brute hand stroked a gentle touch along her arm as a surprisingly comforting silence filled the bedroom. She closed her eyes, blocking out the revealing light. “Okay. We won’t talk about the tragic story. For now.” Sophie tensed, and then his hand smoothed to her shoulder and massaged the tension away. His breath lifted his chest up, and she felt his heart beating on her cheek. The heat pouring from him warmed more than her skin. His mouth whispered across her hairline. “You smell like cookies.” A watery chuckle. “That’s the best compliment you can come up with, Stravoudas? You’re slipping.” His chest rumbled in a chuckle and before she thought it through, her hand stroked across him, taking in the heat and feel of him. His arm tightened around her and the big hand landed on her naked hip. “You feel good.” “You, too.” Tucking her face into the crease of his neck and shoulder, she took in a deep breath. “You smell like Paris.” He chortled again. “I smell like cigarettes and car exhaust? I don’t think I’m the one who has to work on my compliments.” “No.” She popped her head up to meet two twinkling blue eyes. “You smell like…” A caramel eyebrow rose.

“Like the best pastry in the world.” Oh, crud. What a stupid thing to say. Immediate, intense embarrassment filled her and she knew a blush stained her cheeks. “Coming from you, Sophie, that’s a high compliment.” The smile he gave her was grave and one she’d never seen before. A sincere smile. A smile only for her. A Sophie smile. A joy-filled zing of happiness fluttered inside her heart and she gave him a special smile of her own. One she’d never given another soul. “Krotída mou.” He shook his head, the blond curls around his ears swaying. “I can’t believe what you do to me.” “You do it to me, too,” she admitted, not knowing exactly what the words meant, but instinctively understanding the message. “Do I?” His other hand lifted to cup her head. She felt the tug at the top of her ponytail and then the release of her hair. Something went free inside her as well as out, and she bent down without any lingering fear and kissed him. Her hair fell in a curtain around them, keeping out the world. He met her kiss, his mouth hot and wet, his tongue strong and sure. Sophie felt everything fall away until the only thing she knew was here and him. Alex. Her hands smoothed across his shoulders and into his hair. As he had done to her, she released him, and his golden hair spilled onto the pillow beneath him, a riot of treasured curls. She pulled away, so she could look. So she could admire. “You’re beautiful.”

He laughed and flicked a long finger on her chin. “Look who’s talking.” Emotion clutched inside. Staring at him, she saw only genuine belief in his eyes. Alex thought she was beautiful. The tears welled once more, this time in stunned surprise and gratitude. “Come on now.” He slid a big hand along her neck, under her hair. A blunt thumb brushed over her cheek and caught a tear. “Come on.” Her heart had been right. This wasn’t about sex. A shudder went through her and another tear fell on his finger. Sophie tried to hold onto her flying heart, but it had already winged its way straight into love.


Chapter Seventeen

“You’re killing me here.” Alex’s heart and head fought with the erection burning along Sophie’s soft belly. He wanted to strip the covers from her body and come inside her, reveling in the curves and valleys he’d lusted about for weeks. Her tears made the cocoa eyes staring at him sparkle and gleam. He wanted to lean in and lick them off her cheeks and eyelashes until she cried out in passion, not pain. But this wasn’t the time. His lust roared its disagreement. Closing his eyes to her tears, he struggled to get a grip on himself. First, she needed to tell him her tragic story. Then he could fix it and make it all better for her. And finally, hopefully, he’d be able to take everything she wanted to give him. “I’m sorry,” she choked. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Alex opened his eyes to her misery and took in a deep breath. Not the time, Stravoudas. Not now. His cock howled.

“We aren’t going any further. Not when you’re like this.” He hated every word coming from his mouth, yet he had no choice. This time, perhaps for the very first time in their relationship, he was going to act like the gentleman his mother had raised him to be. “Oh, no.” Her bowed lips opened in a big O. “That’s not what I want at all.” Bringing meaning to her words, she pressed her body along his side and buried her wet face in his neck. Before he could catch another breath, her little tongue danced on his Adam’s apple and down to his collarbone. “Sophie. No.” His hand shot out and cupped her head, but he couldn’t wrench her away. His fingers got distracted by the velvet smoothness of her hair. The locks swirled around him, like warm strands of seduction. Her tongue moved to his nipple. “Stop.” He forced himself to tug her hair until she quit her assault on his senses. She wasn’t crying anymore. The gleam in her brown gaze had turned from a sadness that wrenched his heart into a sexual desire that yanked at his cock. The change threatened to give him a whiplash. “This isn’t right,” he sputtered out. “I’ll sleep in—” “You’ll sleep right here with me.” Two small hands pushed his shoulders down on the bed. Before he could object, she slid on top of him. Her abundant breasts pressed to his chest, her legs twined around his, so short he felt her toenails scraping his skin, right below his knees.

Yet far worse, far better, was the feel of her mons and curls brushing along his aching erection. “Soph—” She cut him off by pressing her lips to his and sticking her sassy tongue right into his mouth. He tried to think, tried to control himself and her. Still, the sweet taste of her, so rich and strong and hungry, caught him and wouldn’t cut him loose. Her mouth had always defeated him in one way or another. She wiggled, God help him. In self-defense, he grabbed her butt, trying to stop the agony. Her flesh filled his hands, warm and soft, like round creme puffs begging to be explored. The memory of his erotic imaginations in the past, of him staring at her naked, heart-shaped rear, spreading her legs, surging inside— Sophie squeaked as he rolled her underneath him, his hands still tight on her butt cheeks. His erection, so hot and hard he knew he had only seconds before making a fool of himself, slid right over her clit. Gasping, his krotída mou threw her head back, the cream of her throat drawing his mouth down to taste. Taste the sugar of her skin, the salt of her heat, the fire of her. Only her. He sucked in a deep breath of her scent and fought his cock for control. “Are you sure?” His voice strangled with need. “Because I won’t be able to stop if we go any further.” “Yes, I’m sure.” She moaned. “Just…just go and turn off the light.”

He wanted to yell out his objection, he needed to see every inch of her as he touched her. This was about that damn tragic story of hers, but he couldn’t bring it up now. Not if he wanted to have her tonight. His body roared with need. This isn’t right, the gentleman inside him snapped. This isn’t the time. Lifting himself off her, he sucked in a hot breath at the ache of agonized craving burning under his skin. Her body, in the shining light of the chandelier, was a landscape of rolling hills and deep valleys. All cream and sugar and woman. How could she take this sight away from him? Her eyes popped open and caught his gaze. Not for long, though. He couldn’t help but look again at her beauty, at her bounty. Her delicate shoulders were rounded with a smattering of tiny brown freckles dusting the cream of the skin. They made him want to come close and kiss each one. Her breasts were lush and big, fulfilling every one of his lustful imaginings. Her nipples were dusky red, reminding him of the pinot noir grapes his grand-pere had carefully cultivated. “Go turn off the light,” she yelped. You shouldn’t do this now, the gentleman urged. She’s not ready. “Sophie,” he growled in frustration at her demand he stop seeing her beauty and at the demand from inside that he act like a man of honor. Planting his hands beside her shoulders, he lifted himself off her body. “We should stop.” “Stop?” Her eyes widening in horror. “Why would we stop?”

“Because…” he trailed off, his gaze irresistibly drawn down, down to the parts of Sophie he’d been covering. Parts like her tender, round tummy. Parts like her plump, pretty thighs. Parts like her rosy brown curls masking the best part of a woman. “Alex.” Two tiny hands slapped down on those amazing, rosy brown curls. “Go turn off the light.” “Gamó̱ .” Yes. Correct. He was truly fucked. Either way he went with this woman, he’d be going wrong. Ripping the covers off, he leapt from the bed and stomped to the door. The light switch was right by the door and for a second, he didn’t know which one he’d go for. If he switched off the light and returned to her, he’d get to be inside her and feel her, but not see her, not get all of her. If he walked out the door, he’d be a gentleman his mother would be proud of and he’d probably never get close to the gorgeous Sophie body ever again. He stopped in front of the light switch. And the door. “Okay.” Her voice, that snazzy, snappy voice, piped in from behind him. “Your ass is magnificent, Stravoudas. I want it in my hands, though, not across the room.” A reluctant chuckle came from deep inside him. He was a gamozo-o, as his dad would say. A fucking animal. Not since he’d been seventeen had he ever deserved the title, but now, well, now there was Sophie. He reached up and flicked off the light. The shadows were deeper and darker than earlier, yet he still saw her round cheeks and pretty bow mouth. He still saw her glorious dark hair spread across his white

pillows. He still saw the mound of her body under the sheets, a body that would be sweet and salty and sexy when he began to touch and taste. “Come here,” she demanded. His cock twitched and surged, and he surrendered his lingering concern. He shouldn’t do this; she’d been crying a minute ago. But God, he’d wanted her for so long, he couldn’t say no to her or to his body. He could, however, make this perfect for her. This was the first time with Sophie. He needed to make this good, make this the best. He’d been told by all his previous lovers he was fantastic and she deserved the best of him. Not some quick in and out with his complete loss of control. He hadn’t even worshiped her breasts or tasted between her legs. If he couldn’t see her, at least he could touch her. And taste her. For now, that would have to be enough. Pacing back to the bed, he slipped under the covers and pulled her to his heated side. The soft cushion of her breasts pressed along the side of him. The flame of desire rioted inside his blood. He tugged the sheet off and rolled on top of her again. Pushing himself onto his elbows, he looked down and his mouth went dry. Even in the shadows, he saw enough. The round, full mounds. The pearled sheen of her skin. The tight puckered nipples. “Oh, but…” Her hands came up, this time shielding her breasts. He kept his patience, barely. “The room is dark. Let me see what I can.”

The glint of her eyes caught the dim light of the streetlights outside. He waited for her—she had to give him at least this. At least this much. Finally, she sighed and let her hands fall onto the pillows. Any man would have noticed her breasts, even if they were layered in a wool coat or a god-awful orange rag of a T-shirt. Yet seeing her breasts naked was a gift from lust heaven; feeling them was even better. Lush and creamy, they filled his shaking hand. Closing her eyes, she moaned in pleasure. “Sophie,” he whispered in male adoration. Her nipples were dark and dusky. Everything inside him demanded he flick a light on to see the color once more, to see them react as he sucked. Instead, he took what he could. He leaned down and sipped, sucking her flesh into his mouth, tasting the sweet tang of her need. “Ooooh.” He smiled against her skin, liking this oh more than any of the other ohs she’d given to Paris. This oh was his. All his. He switched his attention to her other nipple and tweaked the wet one he’d just abandoned. Another ooooh, this one longer and higher.

He was on his game now, he had this and her. His cock still wanted everything right away, but he reined it in and he knew he’d be able to do this correctly, right until the very end. He wanted to please her more than any other lover she’d ever had. Sliding his hand down her curved tummy, he let the tip of his finger drift along the beginning of her curls. Back and forth, back and forth. Sophie responded exactly as she should with a nice gasp. Alex smiled as he slanted in to taste the underside of her breast, using his tongue to lick and stroke. Meanwhile, his fingers brushed lower and lower, until his middle finger pressed gently through the curls and straight to the core of her sex. Wet. Very wet. His smile turned into a satisfied smirk. She cried out. Playing and petting, he focused his complete attention on giving his lover all the pleasure she deserved. He didn’t allow his body anything more than a nudge or two of his erection against her thrashing legs. His erection could wait. He watched with satisfaction as her excitement rose. Her eyes opened and closed, giving him a dazed look before long, dark lashes covered her gaze. Her tiny hands scratched along his shoulders and then tightened on his biceps as she came closer to orgasm.

So tender, her inner heart. He drew her wetness over her clit and down into the center of where his cock would soon find its place. With a careful twist, he skimmed a finger around her opening, preparing the way and eliciting another long oh from her. A thrill of accomplishment went through him. She was close, close to what he wanted to give her. Her thighs fell apart, letting him fully in. His fingers danced and plucked, took and gave. Leaning in, he flicked his tongue on one dusky nipple and then the other. Her torso rose, flushed with the hunger he’d wrung from her. His lover cried out her passion, her nipple stiffening in his mouth, her center tightening around his inserted finger. Alex lifted his head to look at her face as she came down from the pleasure. Her little, round cheeks glowed with excitement, her lips were open, her breathing heavy. He loved how her dark brows arched as if questioning the perfection of what he’d given her. His cock dripped with desire and now, finally, it was his time. He grabbed a condom and sheathed himself with shaking hands. Lifting himself on top of her warm, welcoming body, he kissed her lax lips before positioning himself. “Sophie.” She blinked. Blinked again. “Look at me,” he said, “as I take you.” Her hand lifted to brush his hair back from his mouth and over his shoulder. The hand remained there, clutching him. “Hmm.”

The low sound was enough of an invitation for him to come into her, a place he’d yearned for with more than his cock, more than his desire. The realization choked inside him, but greed blinded him and he let it float away. “Aaah.” So tight. His eyes closed with the feel of her. So hot and wet and willing. Elation rolled through him, a mix of pure pleasure and profound pride he’d won her. Won Sophie. The urge to spill inside her was overwhelming, yet he held onto his lust. He wanted to give to her again, give her the perfect pleasure she deserved. Opening his eyes, focusing, he moved over her, in her, arching his pelvis to press on her clit. Her brown gaze went opaque before closing and he captured her moan with a hot swipe of his tongue inside her mouth. Setting a hard pace, he lunged in and out of her, faster and faster. The urgency of his need blistered, but he held it at bay, waiting for her to follow him, reach him and come before him. She stiffened, throwing her head back, just as she’d done before, and her legs came around his hips, pressing him to go faster. The breath in his throat caught, then burst from him and for a moment, he thought he’d lost the control, lost this drive. She saved him, though, by coming. Another low moan erupted from her and the feel of her hot, wet channel tightening around him sent him over the edge. Long minutes went by before he came back to himself, came back from the black, brilliant oblivion Sophie Feuer had sent him into. He realized he was still slumped on her

round, small body. Cursing inside at his lack of concern, he rolled over, taking her with him. His breathing slowed and his skin cooled. He felt as if he could conquer anything, make anything happen. He felt a sense of completeness he’d never imagined he’d have in a woman’s arms. The thought returned, the one he’d hid from. He wanted more of Sophie. All of her. And then she opened her mouth. “That was interesting.” *** Sophie woke to a big, warm hand on the round mound of her stomach. Hot breath whispered on the hairs at the back of her neck. A long, hairy leg pressed between her own and she was pretty sure that wasn’t a broomstick poking into her. Her eyes popped open. Daylight flooded the room. The sun’s rays were bright and dazzling, signaling a beautiful, early-winter day. In Paris. Right. She was in Paris. A grumble came from behind her as the rasp of a bearded chin rubbed along her shoulder. The big hand on her tummy tightened, bumping her butt against the hard pressure of the not-a-broomstick. “Sophie,” a sleepy male voice rumbled into her neck. Alex. Right. She was in bed with him.

With Alex Stravoudas. The memories returned. The magic of the Christmas windows and merry-goround. The kiss under the bright lights of the Eiffel Tower. The walk back to the apartment in a haze of desire. Alex naked. Alex touching her. Alex inside her. He hummed behind her. Another of his tugs brought her into the curve of his lean body, the feel of his hot chest on her back making her shiver. “Cold, krotída mou?” Another hand slid to her breasts and squeezed. “I can make you warm.” Yes. He could. Alex Stravoudas made her very warm last night, and he could do it again with his perfect kisses and perfect touches and perfect sex. In the daylight. Complete daylight. Yanking the duvet to her neck, she pushed his hand off her breast. “Don’t you have a meeting this morning with Henry as usual?” The big body behind her stiffened, but then he hummed once more and she felt the scrape of his overnight beard on the top of her spine as he nuzzled into her like she was his prize. “Alex?” She needed him to get out of bed and go into the bathroom so she could escape.

“Hmm.” The scraping sensation drifted down until the softness of his mouth and tongue traced the line of her spine back to her neck. He licked there, moving to the side and then, to her ear. Unwillingly, her nipples tightened and a tingle spread between her legs. Still, she didn’t want to have sex with him again. Not in broad daylight. And not like last night. When she’d said it had been interesting, she’d said exactly what she meant. Yes, she’d had multiple, amazing orgasms and yes, he’d done a magnificent job at having sex with her. But that’s what was wrong. She had the clear impression he’d felt as if it was his job. She didn’t appreciate having sex with men who got into bed intent on making a point. Not that she’d ever had the experience before. Usually, her old boyfriends got in, had fun, and then started to snore. She’d never thought about multiple orgasms while having sex. She’d been just glad for the human connection and grateful the boyfriend didn’t demand anything unusual. Like seeing her completely naked with the lights on. Like Alex had wanted last night. “Henry’s going to be wondering where you are,” she pointed out, trying to control her breath as he nibbled on her earlobe. “It must be at least nine o’clock.”

His response was a tongue teasing in her ear. The tease sprinkled a hot reaction across her skin and she couldn’t help the tiny gasp that escaped. He chuckled. “Stop.” She scrunched her head to her neck, pushing him away. He grunted. Yes, the man had all the moves. Touched all the right places. Yet she continued to get the feeling he’d approached sex with her as he approached selling his next project, or building a better skyscraper than the other guy, or being…Mr. Perfect. Behind her, Mr. Perfect had regrouped. His breath ruffled through her hair as he started playing with her nipples. His fingers knew precisely what to do. They perfectly assessed her needs and wants and her nipples loved what he did. She did not. She did not like to be played with. “Alex.” Jerking away, she rolled into the covers and turned to face him armored in Egyptian cotton and French sateen. His cerulean blue eyes were hazy with passion and his lush mouth was wet from kissing her skin. His golden hair fell around his masculine face giving him the look of an angelic devil. A caramel brow rose. “What?” He’d been a bit put-out at her interesting comment last night, but when she’d bent over him to ask what the heck that was all about, he’d kissed her before she could squawk. Then he’d enveloped her in his warm embrace before she could find her wits.

Within a few minutes, he’d been asleep and, feeling nice about being held, Sophie had soon done the same. “You need to leave.” She didn’t think discussing his perfect mechanical lovemaking while they were naked was a good idea. Better left to do when taking a long walk or drinking a good glass of wine. Because she wanted to have sex with Alex again. However, she wasn’t going to take Mr. Perfect in his stead. Not ever again. “Do I?” he murmured. The sunlight dappled across his honeyed skin like a splatter of white paint on gold. His nipples were tan discs and the smattering of blond hair around them only seemed to draw her gaze to their perfection. Noticing her attention, the man pushed the sheets down to his waist and stretched his arms above his head. Laying himself out like a tempting pastry. “Yes,” she snapped as she clutched the sheets with tight hands. “You do.” His blond brows frowned and his blue eyes went dark with frustration. “That damn tragic story. Again.” “No. That’s not—” “We’re going to have to talk about it. It might as well be now.” It might as well be never. “You need to get to work.” “No, I don’t.” Propping his hands behind his neck, his face turned serious. As if he was going to be her bossy psychiatrist. “You’re more important.”

His words made her all fuzzy inside, yet his arrogant attitude made her want to bop him on his big, elegant nose. Before she could decide whether she should hit him or kiss him, the buzz of his cell rattled from the bedside. He ignored it, staring at her, instead. “Answer your phone.” Sighing and shaking his head, he leaned over to stare at the phone. “It’s Henry.” His voice was empty of emotion. Another interesting thing to think about. What the heck was going on with him and the emir’s building and Henry? She’d formed the impression, while observing Alex during the last few months, that his business was a bright spot in his life. Not the only spot, but certainly one of the brightest. No guy reached the pinnacle of architectural prominence by neglecting his work. Still, during the last week, it appeared to her Alex wasn’t merely neglecting, he was avoiding. Interesting. “You should answer the phone,” she said. With a grunt of disgust, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for the cell. “Yeah.” He sounded like a sullen teenager. But he didn’t look like one. Loosening the covers from around her because she suddenly felt quite hot, she nudged herself up to lean on the padded headboard. She couldn’t pull her gaze from the fine line of his broad shoulders, the sharp cut of his male shoulder blades, the graceful

arch of his masculine spine. The silver-gray sheets clustered around his hips, showing only the beginning of the cleft of his butt. Warmth, a warmth he created without touching her or kissing her, flooded through her body. He was so beautiful, so perfect. And she wanted him to be hers, all hers. The truth of that fact, the painfully pleasurable truth, rumbled in her soul. “Yeah?” He brushed his curls back and the strands caught the sunlight. Gold and blond and honey swirled in his hair, dazzling her with their radiance. He straightened, the line of his spine growing taut. “I didn’t agree to that.” Sophie noted how his hand tightened on the phone. What was going on? “No way.” He stood in a quick snap and paced to the bathroom door. Stopping, he leaned one shoulder on the wall. The grace of his movements caught her attention once more. The way his butt clenched as he walked, the muscles of his legs tightening as he stopped, the sweep of glory that was his strong back. A Greek god come to life, a marble statue walking off its pedestal and into her life. “I won’t do it, Henry.” His head dropped. She couldn’t see his face, yet the tone of his words told her everything. He was angry, frustrated. What was wrong? “Four years?” His voice rose. “Four years of my life in that godforsaken place?” A horrible silence fell as he listened to whatever Henry said.

“Maybe not all the time, but a lot of the time.” His big hand threw his long hair over his shoulder in a motion of rejection as he turned to face her, his eyes downcast. “We started at two years. Now that’s doubled and I won’t do it.” Another horrible silence. His wide mouth went grim. “I don’t care that the emir wants his own personal architect around at all times.” She tightened her hands on the sheets. There was a terrible need bubbling inside her to jump out of the bed and run over to comfort him. Because something in the tone of his voice told her this wasn’t only about the emir. He fought something beyond that. She should go to him. Naked. In the light. She sunk deeper into the bedcovers. “Forget it,” he stated, a flat, fatal statement. “I won’t sign.” He clicked off the phone and his hand dropped to his side. “Alex?” she ventured his name after the silence carried on for a good ten seconds. “We’re going home.” 


Chapter Eighteen

This was not home. “Where are we?” Sophie peered through the private jet’s oval window. She’d fallen asleep as soon as they got on board, partly to avoid any messy conversations, but mostly because she’d only had a half night of sleep. Apparently, that had been a mistake. Apparently, Alex had decided to take off to…here…without an explanation. “In a plane.” She threw a scowl over her shoulder. “This isn’t New York.” “No, it’s not.” He didn’t even glance at her from across the aisle. All his attention seemed to be pinned on the ridge of mountains they’d recently flown over. She swung her head back to stare out once more. True, there were several big airplanes and some smaller ones standing on the tarmac. Every one of them circled around the three-story, blue-glass terminal in the late-afternoon sun. But she couldn’t compare it to the bustling hustle of La Guardia. Her eyes narrowed as she saw a sign

proclaiming the name of the airport. Inspecting the various airplanes as they drove by, the pieces started to come together. Then she caught the unmistakable sign all in Greek letters. “We’re in Greece.” Shock shot through her. Alex had taken off for Greece without even asking her? Outrage ran right behind the shock. Yanking her belt off, she leapt to her feet. “You said we were going home.” “This is home.” He kept his gaze on the outside. “For me.” “I don’t—” “You should sit down and buckle up,” he said, calm and cool. “At least until we come to a stop.” “I have a business back in New York City.” The concern for him and his business, the worry and angst, flew right out of her mind. “I have responsibilities I need to take care of.” “I called your father.” “What?” “While you were sleeping. He said he’d be fine for another week at your bakery. In fact, he sounded pleased at our delay.” Finally, he looked at her. The blue of his eyes was dark and muddy instead of their usual brilliant cerulean. His jawline was tense, belying the calmness of his voice. The brute hands, those hands that had brought her perfect pleasure, lay on his thighs, slowly tightening into fists. The man hurt.

The heat of her anger simmered to a low boil and she couldn’t help it when her heart gave a lurch. She hadn’t been able to wrench a speck of information from him as they’d dressed, packed, and said good-bye to the ever cheerful Marcel. His cell had buzzed madly until he’d eventually turned it off and stuffed it in his jeans pocket. He’d given the impression he’d have liked to pitch the phone into the Seine instead. As they’d driven in a plain old taxi to the Orly Airport, Sophie had finally ceased to try. Whatever was frustrating Alex, whatever had happened between him and Henry and the emir, wasn’t something he was willing to share with her. The woman he’d made perfect love to last night. The woman he’d claimed was his friend. A woman he hadn’t waited to have sex with because it didn’t matter that it wasn’t the right thing to do. She sucked in a breath. She hurt, too. “You had no right.” “Sophie.” He sighed and glanced away. “I need you here, okay?” The plea drove right into her heart and parked in a hard jerk. Worry about her business fell away. “O-okay.” “Thanks.” He gave her another look, this one from beneath his sinfully long lashes so she couldn’t truly see what he was thinking or what he was feeling. Bending her will to another’s wasn’t her usual habit. Yet the pain in his eyes and his voice, and the love she held so tightly in her heart for this man, made her reassess her normal style.

She’d bend. For now. Plunking herself back down on her seat, she stared through the window again. Her mind rolled around everything bringing no conclusions: the sex last night, his fight with Henry, what lay in her immediate future. What lay in her future with Alex. The airplane came to a stop. “Come on.” He stood in a jerky, sharp move. “We have a drive ahead of us and I don’t want to do it in the dark.” She clicked on her cell phone. Three-thirty p.m. “Does that mean we’re driving far?” “Far enough.” Before she could complain about his secrecy, he strode to the cockpit and opened the door. The pilot greeted him with a rumbled hello and her opportunity to make a point passed. Within a half hour, they were on their way…somewhere…in a fancy Renault SUV. She wanted to reach over and slap him, but the waves of stress and tension rolling off the man made her decide to keep still and keep quiet for now. Whizzing along the sleek highway, they crossed the rugged mountains and dipped into small villages nestled in deep valleys. She settled herself into the leather seat, figuring she might as well let herself enjoy the foreign scenery and the moment. The car started climbing and her jaw dropped when she caught her first glimpse of the top line of the mountains ahead of them. “Snow? In Greece?”

A short puff of laughter came from him and all the tension filling the car slipped away. “We even have a few ski resorts sprinkled in this area, believe it or not.” “Really?” She braved a look over and met his eyes. To her delight and relief, they twinkled in a familiar way that made her heart lift. “Yes, really. At the risk of being yelled at for playing tour guide…” She chuckled. “Go right ahead.” His big hand raised to point out the window. “Those are the Pindus Mountains and that tall one we’re driving toward is Mount Smolikas.” “Did you come here, too, when you were young?” Tension washed back in as his mouth grew grim and the line of his shoulders went taut. “No.” “Oh.” She wanted the twinkling, happy Alex to return, but didn’t have a clue where to take the next step in this minefield named Alex Stravoudas. They drove by a blue-and-white sign proclaiming Edessa and she wished she’d paid more attention to her ancient history class in college. Wasn’t Edessa some important city at one point? She thought about asking the trusty tour guide by her side, yet another glance at him told her he wasn’t in the mood any longer. Not in the mood to talk. Not in the mood to explain. And certainly not in the mood to confide. Sighing, she slumped back and waited for whatever would come next.

After another silent period filled with brooding vibrations that made her anxiety rise, he swung off the highway and onto a small street leading toward the top of the mountains. Snow now covered the road and the roofs of the rugged stone homes they passed. Small village after small village, quaint and quiet, went by and the silence in the car deepened. The sun fell behind the tips of the mountains. A deep, black darkness quickly dropped across the landscape and now all she could see was an occasional flash of light as they drove past a house. Sophie thought her heart might be sliding into darkness too. Why had he dragged her here? Especially when it was clear, he didn’t want any company. Did he think she would provide some great sex on the side and then just leave him alone? Her heart slid down. Her temper heated. She was about to begin yelling and questioning, when he turned the car onto a snow-covered driveway slithering its way right to the top of a mountain. A two-story stone structure stood on a cliff, spilling golden light out on the surrounding grounds. The car stopped. “This is it.” His voice gave nothing away. “How interesting.” The edge of sarcastic heat lined her words and she didn’t care. He was being a complete jerk. Her patience with his secrecy and mood were at an end. He glanced her way, a frown crossing his face. “You don’t like it?” “I don’t even know what it is.” “It’s my home.” Turning the car off, he cracked the car door open. “Actually, it’s my hideout.”

After dropping that bomb in her lap, he got out, slammed the door, and went to the back of the car for their luggage. The front door of Alex’s hideout burst wide and an elderly lady stepped onto the steps, her beaming smile lit by the outside light. “Kýrios Alex.” Another one of his loving female tribe. Of course. Well, at least Mr. Perfect would have to be mildly pleasant. She’d never seen him turn nasty with any of his employees and she’d bet he wasn’t going to start now. No, come to think of it, he was only nasty with her. The grumpy thought made her climb from the car in a huff. “That’s Nella.” He walked to Sophie’s side, carrying his suitcase and hers in his burly hands like they were mere handbags. “She and her husband take care of the place when I’m not here.” The lady’s smile widened and she burbled a long string of incomprehensible Greek. Alex smiled right back, his bad mood all gone in front of the older woman. Of course. “She doesn’t speak much English, and when she gets excited, she forgets.” He looked at Sophie and although the smile still lingered on his mouth, she saw a flash of the ugliness in the depths of his eyes. “Come on.” He waved one suitcase. “I’ll show you my home.” She followed him over the snow-packed path. When they got to the porch, she glanced up to meet two wide, brown eyes. Another dash of hurried Greek spilled into the silence of the night.

“English, Nella, remember?” he said. “This is Sophia. My friend.” Friend? Is that all she was to him? A friend with perks? Her temper bubbled into another boil. The woman’s hands waved in a flutter, her expression one of amazement. Another blast of Greek excitement flowed from her mouth. “She’s not used to me bringing guests.” His lips twisted into a wry grimace. “You mean you haven’t brought a string of girlfriends here?” Irritation crackled in each of her words. “No.” He glanced away. “Only you.” Surprise and something wonderful welled in the center of her heart. Her temper simmered down. “Your mother and sisters don’t come here?” “No.” He set the suitcases on the stone steps. “They don’t even know about it.” Surprise turned into complete astonishment. Alex loved his family. She’d seen it during their fake engagement party. He’d spent time with every one of his sisters. He’d patiently listened to his mother’s worries about the party details. And every one of his nieces and nephews had been treated to a teasing hug or a laughing lift in the air. The idea that he’d keep a place like this secret from a family who loved to travel and clearly adored each other was another mystery she wanted to know everything about. “Why don’t they know about it?” “Nella.” He ignored her. “We’re tired and hungry.”

The elderly lady clapped her hands together in apparent self-disgust. Waving them into the warm foyer, she gave Sophie a smile even wider than she’d given her employer. “Kahlos oreesate.” “That means welcome.” He strode past both of them, through a stone archway, carrying their two suitcases. “I’ll show you to your bedroom so you can freshen up.” Sophie gave the woman a smile in return before following him, her mind swirling. Her bedroom? So that meant he had his own bedroom? It certainly sounded like it. An unsettling brew of confusion and irritation ran through her. The mix of emotions didn’t allow her to take in the surroundings—other than to note the place was old; the barrel ceiling in the kitchen they passed and the ancient limestone walls arching around them told the story. He ascended a circular stone staircase, his head nearly hitting the rounded ceiling. Sophie climbed behind him to find a long hallway at the top. It ran along the length of the home, with ten red wooden doors lining each side. “This place is huge,” she ventured. “The place was an Ottoman prince’s palace at one point.” Striding down the hall, he opened the far door. “This is your bedroom.” She walked to where he stood and stared at him. “Mine alone?” “Ah, yeah.” He made a face. “Nella would be scandalized.” Okay. He hadn’t brought her here as some kind of sex toy. I need you.

That hadn’t been sex he’d been talking about. The warm, wonderful feeling inside welled from her heart into her whole soul. “Alex—” “You’ll be comfortable here.” He paced away from her to set her suitcase on the canopied bed. Sophie took note of the antique Persian rug on the floor, a swirl of red and teal. Then there was the tapestry on the far wall that had to be another antique. Lastly the bed, with its cream drapes and lacy pillows, standing in the middle of the room looking like something made for a princess. This place was a simple hideout? “There’s an en suite bathroom.” He gestured to a stone archway. “And a terrace too, though it might be too cold to use.” “Does Nella keep every one of these bedrooms and bathrooms ready for use at all times?” “No.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I called ahead.” “So she knew you were bringing a guest this time.” “I guess.” Throwing her a sullen look, an apparent warning not to ask any more probing questions, he stalked back to where she stood in the doorway. “I’ll leave you alone now.” “Alex—” “Nella’s probably cooked something for dinner.” He went right past her into the hallway. “Come down when you’re ready.” She twisted around to stare at him. “You’re going to have to talk to me at some point.”

“Now’s not that point.” And with that cryptic remark, he left her to stew. *** Sophie scowled out at the pristine snow. Snow had fallen the entire day yesterday and all through this morning. Still, that’s not why she glared at the white stuff. No, she enjoyed snow. She liked to make snowmen and angels and romp around just like any other person who’d grown up in New York, but none of these activities were very fun to do alone. “Sophia.” Nella’s cheerful voice rang from the kitchen. “Éla. Have some soup.” Giving the snow one last glare, she marched into the blue-and-white kitchen that mixed modern with ancient in a suspiciously familiar way. The similarities between this kitchen and the one in Paris could not be a coincidence. “Here, here.” The elderly woman smiled as she waved her to the one lone setting lying on the big wooden table. “Lemon chicken soup will be good for lunch, hmm?” “Yeah, I’m sure.” She slumped onto the wicker-and-wood chair being held out for her and dipped her spoon into the soup. Nella and her husband, Petros, were wonderful. Nella cooked meal after meal with a smile. Petros had given her a tour of the grounds that included a surprisingly big stable filled with extremely short horses. Both of them had endeavored to make her feel completely at home. His home. His hideout. His place where he’d dumped her like a used piece of tissue and disappeared.

Her spoon clattered into the empty soup bowl. Sophie had been patient through the first night here. She’d smiled as the older woman had fed them lamb-stuffed quince and a tasty cheese-filled pastry Alex had told her was called masnic. She’d figured she’d have time to pull out whatever was bothering him during the next few days. Stupidly, she’d climbed into her solitary bed that night smug in the knowledge he couldn’t avoid her forever. Evidently, he thought he could. Because yesterday morning she’d awakened to Nella’s broad smile, a layered phyllo dough filled with cheese and egg the housekeeper called bougatsa, and no Alex. The Renault still stood in the driveway. His fancy suits hung in the bedroom all the way down the hallway from hers. His cell and laptop sat on the oak and marbled desk in the library. “Where is he?” she’d asked more than once. “Kýrios Alex say you stay here,” Nella explained haltingly. “He be back.” “Kýrios Alex needs time,” Petros had responded. “Like every man.” That last comment had made her grind her teeth, yet no matter how nice she was, or testy she was, the answer was always the same. She should stay put. He’d be back whenever he decided to come back. Yesterday, she’d tried to use her cell phone, but there was no reception. She’d also tried to find the keys to the Renault with no luck. Today, she was prepared to put on her peacoat and hike to the highway to hitch a ride.

The problem was, he might not be here, but he was somewhere near. He had to be. The car. The suits. The cell phone and laptop. He wouldn’t leave his stuff behind if he had taken off for good. The memory of the ugly, dull look in his eyes made her eyes ache. She needed to find him. I need you here. She couldn’t leave him here all alone. Yes, Nella and Petros were wonderful people yet they didn’t know the real Alex. Not like she knew the real Alex. “I go now.” The older woman wrapped a bright-green scarf around her neck and beamed her usual smile. “I take Petros his lunch and…” Her gaze narrowed as the older woman’s words stumbled to a halt. “Petros needs his lunch.” Grabbing the pail she’d lovingly stocked as Sophie ate, a suspiciously big pail, the older woman waved her goodbyes and went through the door. Nella and Petros lived in a small apartment off the main house, but in reality, the old man seemed to live with his horses. So she hadn’t been very surprised when his wife hiked to the stable every day with food. Not surprised and plainly not paying enough attention. Taking her bowl and spoon to the sink, she stared out the circular window. Nella left a string of footprints in the snow in her wake.

Footprints. He had to be near and now that she thought about it; he had to eat. Yes, the man could cook, she’d testify to that. He still needed ingredients, though. In the mood he’d been in, she’d bet her last pastry, he wasn’t cooking. Nella was cooking. Quite a lot. This realization jumped on top of the others. Petros was a big man and did physical work, but his wife stuffed that pail with a huge amount of food. Far too much for just one man to consume. Sophie plunked herself in the library, where she’d spent most of yesterday. The mahogany shelves reached to the ceiling and held every book ever written as far as she could tell. Snagging the first book she found, she waited. She needed to play this carefully. Within the hour, Nella returned, the clatter of the back door opening announcing her presence. She stuck her head into the library and gave her a smile. Yet now that Sophie thought about it, that smile was more of an ah, there you are smile than a how are you doing smile. The older woman finally went into her apartment up the hall for her usual afternoon nap. The house went quiet. Sophie placed the book down with careful precision and crept into the main hallway. Putting on her coat and borrowing a woolen hat and the pair of galoshes Nella had produced for her, she opened the front door and slipped out.

The footprints were easy to follow even though snowflakes were falling in a soft, slow drift. She followed them to the stable, but didn’t go the entire way to the closed door. No need to bother Petros while he napped. No need to alert him to her plans, either. She found the second set of footprints coming from the other end of the stable. They circled down, down the mountain. Sophie kept walking, determined not to chicken out. The trail eventually led straight into a clump of evergreens. And there, in the middle of the trees, stood a stone house. A hut, in all honesty. Bingo. “Okay, Stravoudas.” She marched to the door and pounded. “I’ve found you. Open this door.” When she got no answer, she didn’t waste any time. She turned the knob and pushed. No lock. Sophie stepped into his true hideout. The stone walls reached upward in a curve, drawing her eyes to the dark-wood loft. The edge of a bed could be seen along with a pair of discarded jeans lying on top of the spread. Familiar-looking jeans. “Oh, yeah,” she said. “You’re here. Somewhere.” The hut had only one main room with a simple black oak table standing by the small kitchen. A half-drunk bottle of red wine stood on the counter along with the remains of a sandwich. A sandwich she had seen Nella make not more than two hours ago. “Ha!” She made a fist pump. “Now, where are you hiding?”

One couch, upholstered with dark-red cushions, was placed in front of the large, cold fireplace. The mantel held a scramble of things: framed photos, childhood mementos, items she couldn’t even identify. Underneath the loft was a simple, wooden architect’s desk with lots of paper scattered across the surface. Sophie walked to the table and picked up a sketch. The drawing was of a single home nestled into the rise of a sand dune, the glass front rolling with the landscape, making it look like it belonged right where it was. She picked up the next one. Another single home, this one a circular mix of glass and wood placed in the center of a forest, its back tucked into the crest of a hill. Ruffling through the rest, she realized there were no big skyscrapers or huge shopping malls. No black erections piercing the sky or grand ornaments to wealth. All of them were simple, elegant designs for families. All of them blended into their landscapes like the hand of God had placed them there from the beginning of time. “Alex,” she whispered. “These are beautiful.” This. This was what this man was about. Not a race to the top, designing buildings for rich men who wanted to make a statement. No, her Alex should be designing with his heart, with his soul. Designing places filled with love. Something clicked inside, every one of the puzzle pieces of Alex Stravoudas lining into perfect sense. She knew him now. She didn’t know if he felt the love she had for him, but she knew the inside of him, right to the core.

Turning away from his masterpieces, she fisted her hands. She needed to find him. Right now. Not in the hut. But somewhere near. Where? Marching to the door, she flung it open and stepped onto the stone front steps. That’s when she spotted the other set of footprints leading down the hill, through the evergreens. Ah ha! Slogging through the snow, Sophie suddenly smelled rotten eggs. She scrunched her nose in disbelief. What was that smell? Where could he possibly be? Coming to a wooden bridge, she crossed over the bubbling creek and followed the snowy footprints around an outcrop of rock. And there he was. Sitting in a lily-pad-filled pond. A hot spring. Naked. “What are you doing here?” He scowled. “Finding you.” She glanced around. The mist surrounded her, bringing the warmth of the water into the air. The limestone outcrop circled the pond and a rivulet of water cascaded into the pool. The splash made the surface of the pool ripple, the lily-pads bobbing in the wake. The whole picture was breathtakingly beautiful. “Go away,” he barked.

“Are you kidding me?” She pulled off her wool hat. His blue eyes widened. She walked to the edge of the pool and kicked off her boots. “Sophie,” he warned. “I want you to go back to the main house.” “Nope.” The peacoat slapped onto a waiting rock. “Not going to happen.” Up close, the water was hazy with steam, yet she could see the steps underneath and even the floor of the pond. “Did you design this?” “Yes.” His voice was edged with disgruntlement. “Why does it matter?” It mattered because she had finally understood the minefield that was Alex Stravoudas. “I saw your sketches.” She unbuttoned the top of her shirt. “You had no right.” Surging to his feet, displaying an impressively broad chest, he threw her a violent glare. “When a guy leaves things out, a girl has a right to look.” She slipped off her shirt and placed it on her peacoat. Turning, she stared him straight in the eye. “They are amazing. Those homes are what you should be designing.” “I didn’t ask for your opinion.” She ignored his surly tone and unzipped her jeans. “What are you doing?” he snarled, a sneer covering his face, warning her off. “You don’t want to be naked in front of me, do you?” “Someone in this relationship has to start.” She pushed down her jeans. A tingle of old pain trembled through her, but she thrust it away.

Alex was worth this. Worth exposing herself. Worth risking everything. She straightened, wearing only her plain white bra, her old pink panties, and a pair of black socks. Her big breasts pressed along the seams of the bra, her round tummy couldn’t be hidden by the stretch of her underwear, and the black socks probably made her appear like a little old lady. She must look a sight. He stared at her, his blue eyes hard and cold. “Go ahead. I bet you can’t do it.” “And I bet I can.”


Chapter Nineteen

God damn it. She was so beautiful. And stubborn. A potent combination that struck right at his libido and straight into his heart. “Sophia.” He spoke in the voice he’d used when he’d hated her because he couldn’t handle this or her right now. Not now. “I don’t want you. Go away.” Her round, little face scowled. “Guess what, Stravoudas?” “Soph—” “I can see right through the water.” Her gaze slid down his torso. “You’re lying.” The woman had no idea what would happen if she came into this pool. The turmoil inside him was too horrible, too forceful to control. It was why he’d left her alone, why he’d come down to his place. The place he came to when he had to wrestle with his father’s memory and reaffirm his purpose. “You’re a woman.” He pushed his sneer wider. “You have the basic equipment any man wants and you’re half naked.”

Her dark gaze narrowed. But she didn’t quit. She didn’t do what he wanted her to. Cover herself. Cry. Run. Why was she forcing him to be brutal? She needed to give him a few more days. Then he’d be back to normal. He’d have everything straightened out inside him. “Just because I have an erection doesn’t mean I want sex.” He kept the sneer, kept the hate in his voice. “I don’t.” She made that ugly sound in her throat. The sound he’d thought unappealing weeks ago but now found it rumbling inside him, making him hot with anger and hunger. “You’re so full of it, Alex.” Leaning down, she yanked off both socks and flicked them onto her pile of clothes. In the process, she gave him an eye-popping view of her abundant cleavage. His cock started its predictable howl for Sophie. She straightened, her brown eyes serious. “Unlike everyone else, I can see straight through you.” Everything inside shuddered. The lust, his heart, the fear. Her plump hands circled behind her back and her bra loosened, slid. “No, no.” He wanted to lunge toward her, to stop her, to hold her. Instead, he backed into the wall of the pool. “Stop.” The bra landed on the rock. “You want me,” she said with simplicity, as if the truth had always been there and always would be. “And you need me.” True. Both sentences. Still, she didn’t understand.

He hadn’t deserted her because he’d wanted to; he’d done it to protect her. During these last few months, everything on the outside of his life had exploded, driving him here to Greece. Back to a place he called home. Yet it was more. Much more. This place gave him back his father, gave him back some peace. He’d thought coming here would settle him. This place would clear his mind and make him remember his promises as it always had previously. He’d brought Sophie here thinking she’d be a part of putting him all back together. But on the very first night here, he’d known everything inside him was exploding too. He didn’t want her to be hurt in the fallout. She gave him a look from under her lashes. One he’d never seen from her before. A fiery, sizzling look that burned right through his objections and headed like an arrow to his cock. “Stop. Right now.” Ignoring his words, she kept her gaze on his face. Her hands lifted to her hair, pulling her ponytail out. The action shifted her bountiful tits, making them jiggle in the misty air. Making him hotter than he’d ever been. Ever. “You have to stop.” God help him, he was begging. Because he knew something she didn’t. He wouldn’t be the perfect lover he’d been in Paris. He was too angry, too confused. All of that frustration would be taken out on this fluff of a woman.

“I’m not stopping.” She pulled her panties down, giving him another shot of outstanding cleavage. Then, she stood. Naked in front of him. Alex couldn’t help himself. He took her in. The beauty of her red-brown hair slipping over her rounded shoulders. Her dark eyes staring right back at him. The captivating curve of her breasts with her wine-colored nipples. The lush arc of her hips, her plump thighs, her pretty ankles. “Sophie.” He tried one more time to save her. “You don’t know what’s going to happen if you come in here.” “Oh.” She gave him a smile as old as the ages. A smile only a woman can give. “I think I do.” He sucked his breath in when she dipped one toe into the heated water. Another breath when she sunk into the pool to her waist. The last breath, maybe the final breath he’d ever take, when she swam toward him. “I’m warning you.” The limestone dug into his shoulder blades. “I’m not going to be able to control myself.” Her cocoa eyes lit as if he’d given her a present. “That sounds perfect to me.” Sophia Feuer was crazy. She didn’t want to see him wild. She didn’t want to see him turn into an animal.

Her hands landed on his chest, pushing at his heart. “Come on, Alex,” she purred. “Give it to me.” It being himself. All his insane ideas and stupid needs and angry desires. All of the stuff he’d managed to leave behind when he’d made his promises. “You don’t know —” “I know.” Reaching up, she tugged his hair loose. His curls tangled in her fingers and she used them to pull him into her body. “Come on. Show me.” The feel of her satin skin on his made the inside chaos boil over. The last thought he had before exploding was he’d never be the same, never be the Alex Stravoudas he’d been only one moment ago. “Fine, krotída mou.” He yanked her into his arms, fitting her into his soul. “I’ll show you.” *** For a second, Sophie relished the feel of his body surrounding her. The hard muscles of his chest on her cheek, the taut strength of his arms on her back. The heat of his erection branding her tummy. But then, the hardness, the strength, the heat were gone. His hands latched onto her shoulders and swung her around, making her dizzy. “What?” she shrieked in surprise. “I told you.” His voice sounded nothing like the suave, charming New Yorker she’d dealt with before. Now his voice was the guttural rumble of a male beast. “I warned you.”

A shiver of delicious, erotic fear ran down her spine. Alex lifted her from behind, the hair of his arms caressing her stomach. Striding over to the edge of the pool, he dropped her onto her knees on a stone ledge. Without even asking, he yanked her hands, placing them on the marble wall in front of her. “Keep them there.” Oh, my. This was what she wanted. No perfect man. No perfect laugh or smile or manners. This was the Alexander Stravoudas she’d wanted to see from the first moment she’d met him. She wanted to see him raw and real, rough and right. She hadn’t realized this salient fact until this very moment. “Hmm.” Approval strummed in her throat. The lean body behind her stilled, as if surprised. “Keep going,” she said. “I’m all yours.” He grunted and his hard hands landed on the inside of her thighs, pushing them wider. The water lapped around her sides and on her breasts, heating her and making her skin tingle. Leaning her cheek on the marbled wall, she closed her eyes and let herself go. Right into Alex’s big, brute hands. Blunt fingers brushed between her legs, right into the heart of her. She moaned and wiggled her hips. A short bark of laughter came from him. “Dammit. You destroy me.” Another wiggle of hips. She didn’t want him to play with her. She wanted him to take her. “I can’t…” he gasped. “I’m trying—”

“I’m ready.” She arched her back, pushing her ass out of the water. “Right now.” “Theós gamó̱ to.” His tongue slurred over the vowels, making the foreign words sound like a cursed prayer. His fingers disappeared, the forceful head of his cock taking their place. Sophie groaned her encouragement. His tight grip on her hips imprinted into her skin and she knew she’d have bruises there, his mark. She wiggled again. With one sharp move, he entered her deeply. The feel of him coming into her, the male length filling her female core like a hand into a glove, the feel made her scream in pleasure. He jerked to a stop once more. He panted above her. “Sophie?” “Don’t stop,” she groaned, frustration running through her. Getting rid of the last vestiges of Alex’s perfection was going to drive her insane. “Don’t you dare stop.” The hands on her hips flexed and with a harsh groan, he surged out and then in. His punishing pace pushed her in and out of the water, the waves lapping at her nipples, her shoulders bumping on the marble and limestone. She’d be sore all over tomorrow. How glorious and amazing and wonderful. His heavy breathing filled the misted air. The slap, slap of his thighs on her butt, muffled by the water, were still a potent echo of what went on between them. She felt her orgasm building inside, the shivering, shattering excitement blasting through her with every one of his thrusts.

“Sophie.” The one word was tight with want and need. Also something deeper, stronger. Something that made her heart sing. Her body exploded. “Oooooohhh.” Her whole body arched into his, pushing into his hips, clenching around his cock. He swore above her, another foreign word, strained and taut. His hands tightened once again and if she weren’t in the middle of the best orgasm she’d ever had, they would have hurt. But the sting of pain only emphasized the deep, delicious pleasure he gave her. “Alex,” she crooned through the last, lingering bliss. “Come inside me.” He tensed, and then his lean hips pumped in a mad frenzy, pushing her back and forth on the stone step. She let him have his way. Moving in the waving water like one of the lily pads, she focused on the body behind her and how much she wanted him to feel the full desire she’d just experienced. “Aaah,” he gasped, then groaned. His body curved around hers, and she felt the sweet, hot surge of his orgasm inside her as his hips pumped once, and once more. Everything inside her went still as if the world had ended and begun at this moment. The mist wafted around them, the gentle silky feel of it smoothing over their skin. Intermixed with the mist, a few snowflakes sifted down, melting before they landed on the pond. His chest moved on her back, an inhalation, a breath out. His hands loosened their tight grip on her hips and brushed across her sides and breasts. Sophie quivered with delight.

She didn’t want this moment to end, this time where he and she were together, not only physically, but she hoped and prayed…emotionally…spiritually. The knowledge zinged straight to her heart once more. She loved him. When she’d been taking her clothes off in front of him, she’d been more focused on reaching him. Yes, it had been a risk, yet in the heat of her actions, she hadn’t been thinking of her emotional state, she’d been thinking of his. But now it fully hit her. Taking off her clothes hadn’t been only about pulling his attention away from his pain. The action had been about exposing herself to him entirely. Physically. Emotionally. And spiritually. He moved behind her in a sudden, wrenching motion. As he slipped out of her, she took a big gulp of air, then straightened and turned to meet her lover and her love. He glowered at her with bright, azure eyes. Not quite what she’d expected after the best sexual experience of her life. He stood, the water to his waist, the mist streaking down his heaving, broad chest, looking like a Greek god come to life. An angry god ready to throw down some lightning bolts. “Alex—” “Look what you’ve done.” His hands fisted by his side. “I’m not the only one who did some things a few minutes ago.” She gave him a wry smile. He was upset, but she knew him well now. He was more upset at himself than her. “And they were lovely things you did.”

His eyes went from bright to fierce. “You made me do those things. I warned you.” “Are you listening to me?” Her temper bubbled as it always did around this man. Along with it, came the usual desire trailing right behind. Another thing that always happened around this man. “I loved what we just did.” “You’re crazy.” He slapped the water with his hand making her jump. “I attacked you.” “Alex—” “Hell.” His expression went blank as his skin whitened. Big, brute hands reached up to scrape through his golden curls as if he were about to tear out his hair. “We didn’t even use a condom.” Oops. Well, that had never happened before. She’d always been conscientious regarding birth control and disease. A whisper of unease went through her. After all, this was The Perfect Man. He might have not done anything with Melanie, yet there’d been the month after… “Should I be worried?” “Not if your aim is to get pregnant,” he snarled. “Though that might put a bit of a crimp in your all-important business, Sophia.” “I meant disease.” She was on the pill, so she didn’t have a lot of worry about pregnancy, but this guy was a player. Or had been. His eyes widened with surprise and then narrowed into lasers of blue steel. “I told you Melanie and I—”

“You had a month after the split to fool around.” She suddenly felt her nakedness like a brand. Wrapping her arms around her chest, she managed to give him an accusing squint. “Plus, what’s not to say you haven’t been doing some stuff on the side while we’ve been—” “No.” His mouth went grim. “You can’t believe that.” No, she couldn’t believe that. Alex might be arrogant and full of himself sometimes, still, at heart, he was an honorable man. A gentleman. “I’m sorry,” she sputtered. How had they come to this? After the best lovemaking in all of eternity, here they were throwing insults at each other when they should be kissing and cuddling and making love again. “I don’t believe—” “Then there’s you.” His jaw clenched. “You with your fancy Frenchmen slathering all over you. Who’s to say you don’t have some kind of disease?” “Slathering?” The charge was so absurd it shot right past her temper and triggered her funny bone. She giggled. He went rigid. Uh, oh. “You know what, Sophia?” Jerking around, he waded to the edge of the pool and climbed out. He grabbed a towel and wiped it down his front as he turned to confront her. “What?” She probably didn’t want to hear what he was going to say, but since he clearly was going to say it no matter what, she might as well be a part of the conversation.

“You.” He threw the towel over his naked shoulder. “Can go fuck yourself.” He stalked off, his long, curly hair flowing behind him. A golden god, all pissed off, with the best ass on earth or heaven. Sinking into the hot pool, she thought about being angry. But her body still hummed with lusty energy for only one man and her brain finally understood Alexander the Great. Understood this man could be more of a dick to himself than anyone else around him. “I’d rather make love to you, Alex.” *** He was a fucking animal. His father and grandfather would have said far worse. He didn’t even want to think about his maman and her reaction to what he’d just done. The last of his lust disappeared. The air was crisp and cold, and yet, Alex swore he saw steam coming off his naked body. His angry body. The inevitable desire for Sophie might have temporarily been dispelled, but the anger he held for her still stood. She’d done this. She’d driven him to this. Pacing up to his place, he slammed the door open and then closed. Even though he hated this loss of control, this loss of himself and what he believed himself to be, it still felt impossibly good to be something other than… Perfect. He snorted as he stomped up the wooden stairs to the loft. He had no claim to that damn title, not now. Not ever again. Not when Sophia Feuer was anywhere around him.

Rushing into the bathroom and twisting the shower on, he stuck his head into the splash of warm water. He growled. He didn’t deserve warm water and if he had to make a bet, Sophie wouldn’t slink off into the woods. Hell, no. By the look in her brown eyes as he yelled at her, she’d be plowing into his hideout in a matter of minutes. He wrenched the water to ice cold. God damn it. She’d taken all of her clothes off right in front of him. In broad daylight. Where had the tragic story gone? How could a man be expected to deal with that in a civilized way? How could anyone expect he’d be able to hold onto his composure and make love to her like a man should love a woman? Especially with this damned frustration and confusion swirling inside him. And double God damn it. She’d inspected his sketches. The stupid, silly, dreamy sketches he only did when he had some free time. Like the stupid, silly, dreamy teenager he’d once been and now rarely thought about. Until lately. He shivered as the water slid down his body. No one could blame him for what he’d done. Except himself.

The memories stormed back even as he tried to keep them at bay. The delicious, delicate line of her spine as she arched into him. Her lush round ass filling his hands as he watched himself going in and out of her. The sounds she made as she came, as her body wrapped around his, pulling him into an erotic black hole he only found himself diving into when he made love with Sophie. The way his fingers dug into her skin. The way he’d pushed her into the limestone and marble. The way he’d banged inside her like an out-of-control teenager. He’d dreamed of her like that, given to him like a plump, perfect prize. But his dream had never included the images of her fighting to keep afloat or the regret and rage roiling inside him now. Cursing under his breath, he turned off the water and grabbed another towel. He needed to get dressed quick. He needed to have armor on when he next saw Sophia. “Stravoudas?” Her sassy voice pierced the bathroom door he’d slammed behind him. “Come out here. I have something to show you.” God help him. He didn’t want to see whatever she had on show because he’d make another bet. A bet that he’d show her another piece of his fucking animal within two seconds of her show. “Come on,” she coaxed. “Don’t be afraid.” The taunt blasted his temper high into the mountain sky. He might be an animal, but he wasn’t afraid. He never was afraid. The bathroom door whacked back onto the wall. “Sophia, you better—”

The air in his lungs whooshed out. “Hi.” She stood at the side of his bed, her cocoa eyes dark and dreamy, her smile pure paradise, her brown hair lit from behind by the soft, snowy light coming from the window. She was entirely naked. Again. He scowled. “Put on some clothes.” “You don’t have any on. Why should I?” Before he could cudgel his brain into an appropriate response, she swayed over to him, her luscious hips swinging, sucking every thought from his head. Except one. There were smudges on those female hips. The beginning of a string of bruises made by his fingers. A howl of rage filled his mind, blanking everything out besides disgust and despair. He’d bruised her. Not again. He wouldn’t do it again. “Stop,” he croaked. She ignored his instruction just as she had at the pond. Instead, she walked into his space, fitting right into him, filling the air between them with the spicy scent of evergreen and the sweet smell of vanilla. His brain lurched to work. He grabbed for anything. “I guess the tragic story is no more,” he snapped.

That stopped her. The delicate lace of her brows furrowed. Alex took in a relieved breath. She’d leave now, she’d go. He wouldn’t hurt her again. “Hmm.” She cocked her head, her hair sliding down one round, freckled shoulder. “I guess so.” No. NO. She needed to leave and be safe and tell him the tragic story so he could fix it for her and redeem himself. “You—” “Hey.” One small hand landed on his chest. “I’ll tell you the story if you want. But it doesn’t matter right now.” She smiled at him and something in her eyes stopped his arguments, stopped his soul. Some tender, fluttery thing around the edge of the cocoa. Some fragile, delicate emotion he didn’t want to break. “Sophie,” he whispered. Her hand slipped down to his hand and she tugged him toward the bed. “Come on, Alex. Show me the real you again.”


Chapter Twenty

Alex woke to the sweet smell of paprika mixed with the stinging scent of onion. His eyes blinked open. Greece. His place. Nighttime, because the only light he saw came from downstairs and it was the warm, mellow glow from the fireplace added to the brighter lights from the kitchen. His nose twitched. His stomach rumbled. His ears heard her humming drifting from below. Sophie. Alex rolled over, taking the sheets with him. He was naked, which was usual for him when he slept, but he hadn’t been sleeping in this bed. Or not only sleeping. She’d taken his hand and led him right back to his animal. He’d found himself lying on this bed, crying out as her little bow mouth slid and slipped across his skin, across his nipples, across his cock. He’d lost all control once more and proved to himself

he couldn’t be perfect for her. Yet she’d moaned and sighed and when it was all over, she’d told him she loved it. Loved it when he was an animal. She’d said those exact words. “I love it when you lose it, Alex.” She’d smiled at him as she brushed the palm of her hand along the shadow of hair on his jaw. “I love it when you’re an animal.” He shook his head. Women. No, it was more like… Woman. Sophie. “Hey.” He stared at the beamed ceiling, waiting for her reply. With his gaze, he traced the black oak beams inlaid on the white plaster as he’d designed and waited. He needed to get a sense of her mood before he showed himself. “Hey, yourself.” Her voice came back, cheery and light. “Get down here. It’s time to eat.” Nella must have been here, delivering his daily supply of food. He’d subsisted on sandwiches and wine during the last few days, much to the older woman’s disgust, but from the smell, Nella had delivered something more substantial for the evening meal. He wondered what Nella thought of the whole situation. Having never brought a woman here before, he’d never spent any time thinking of Pedros and Nella’s sensibilities. Still, when they’d arrived, on that first night, he’d instinctively known if he

stuffed Sophie into his bedroom, he’d lose some of the respect and affection from the older couple. The respect and affection he’d come to value. He wondered what she had said to Nella. He wondered if he’d lost something he’d just realized was important to him. Anger at himself, at her, rumbled through his soul. Sophie made him do so many things he shouldn’t do. He knew that, yet he’d still did them. Rolling off the bed, he padded into the bathroom to brush his teeth. “Come on, Stravoudas.” Her voice rang from below. “I’m dishing this up now and I’ve worked for a couple of hours to make it exactly right.” His hand stopped, his toothbrush stuck in the middle of his mouth. Sophie? Sophie cooked for him? Not once had one of the most famous pastry chefs in New York City lifted a finger to make anything for him at all. Not even a simple sandwich. No, instead, it had been him doing all the cooking and baking and buying of food. For her. He spit out the toothpaste along with a sliver of disgruntlement. He shouldn’t be disgruntled. He’d enjoyed feeding Sophie. He’d enjoyed her healthy appetite. The annoyance slithered through his blood as he pulled on his jeans. “There you are.” Turning from the simple stove, she gave him a friendly smile. “I thought I’d try one of Nella’s recipes.”

“Did you.” He took in the black oak table. Two wine glasses stood waiting along with a couple of cloth napkins and silverware. A thick white candle flickered in the center, glowing cheerfully. He didn’t feel cheerful. He felt surly. Her cocoa eyes went wary, his sharp little firecracker clueing in to his tension immediately. “What’s wrong?” “Cooking for me, Sophia?” He gave her an insincere smile. “Has hell frozen over?” Her tiny hands fisted. Her bow mouth tightened. And her brown eyes, the eyes that had looked at him with gentle warmth a few hours ago, those eyes went flat. “You are an impossible man to please.” That wasn’t true. Everything about her pleased him. The way her body filled out the jeans and sweater she had on. The way she fit into his arms. The way she hummed every time he came into her. Her smell. Her taste. Her brain. Her wit. The fragile Sophie. The firecracker Sophia. Every piece of her pleased him. That was the problem. She pleased him too much. Pleased him so much he let his guard down and became something he didn’t want to be. Even worse, she rammed right through all his barriers and made him question everything about himself. Everything he’d decided long ago.

“Nothing to say to that?” Her button nose scrunched. “Then you must agree.” Twirling around, she lifted the lid off the old-fashioned clay pot sitting on the stove. “Nella came here, didn’t she?” “No.” She slammed the lid down on the counter. “I went to the big house. I didn’t want her to be worried when I disappeared and I needed to get some ingredients.” “What did she say?” Her shoulders tightened at his curt tone. “She said very little. She smiled a lot.” Smiled? A lot? His housekeeper had to know what was going on. She couldn’t have missed the tumble of Sophie’s dark hair or the bruise on her neck where he’d sucked and bit like the animal he was. “Alex.” His krotída mou slapped a spoon into the pot. “Stop worrying about your reputation with Nella and Petros. They adore you.” Her tone indicated she couldn’t understand why. A reluctant grin skidded onto his mouth. “Nella was happy about us being together, okay?” Another slap, slap of the spoon. “She even gave me a hug when I left.” Alex wanted to stay angry, but Sophie was so damn cute: when she tossed her long, loose hair over her shoulder in dismissal, when her round body bristled in irritation, when her jaw clenched in apparent disgust. “What are you cooking?”

She peered at him. Something in his cautious tone must have struck her as an olive branch because the tense line of her jaw eased. “Tavče gravče.” A simple bean dish Nella had introduced him to on the first night he’d stayed at his new acquisition. Yet the smells emanating from the pot weren’t exactly the same as the ones he’d sniffed in his housekeeper’s kitchen. Alex walked to her side and leaned in. There were the usual onions, tomatoes, and peppers sizzling along with the boiled beans. However, being Sophie, she hadn’t stuck to the script. There were also leeks. “Leeks?” She shrugged one delicate shoulder and kept stirring. Leaning in further, he sniffed. “Mint?” “You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to.” She stood rigid beside him, her mouth grim. “I just thought it might be fun to mix it up.” That was probably the best description of Sophia Feuer he’d ever heard. She thought it was fun to mix everything up. Including him. He looked down at her. He could tell she was pissed again, the olive branch he’d offered a moment ago rejected, because he swore he could see the steam shooting from the top of her head. “Hey.” She huffed and ignored him. His stomach let out a growl. “Oh.” She jerked her head around to stare at his torso. “You’re hungry.”

Yes. Hungry for her. Her delicate brows, her creamy freckled skin, the sweet way she stared at him when they made love. Made love. Something other than hunger rumbled through him, but he pushed it back. “Yeah. I’m hungry. Shall we eat?” Wary cocoa eyes lifted to meet his gaze. “All right.” He poured the wine while she filled wooden bowls with the steaming stew. Within a few minutes, he’d finished the first bowl and helped himself to another. Freshly baked sourdough bread and a salad of tomatoes, cucumbers, and feta cheese went down along with the main course. “Gee.” Sophie stared across the table, her mouth open in surprise. “You were hungry.” “I’m always hungry.” He dipped a piece of bread into the broth. “True.” She sipped the wine. “But not like this.” He grunted, not willing to admit his hunger might be because he hadn’t eaten much the last couple of days. Nella had scolded so he’d ended up taking the remnants of his meal and scattering them for the birds. He also didn’t want to admit his hunger might have something to do with being a fucking animal twice today. “This is good wine.” Her glass swirled, highlighting the rich, ruby-red wine. “Is it available in the US? I’ll have to get some.” “No.” He scooped the last of the beans onto his spoon. “It’s only available here.” Her dark brows arched. “In Greece? I can buy some here before we leave.”

“No.” He chewed on the last of the sourdough while he noticed the firelight from behind coated her in an amber glow, bringing out the red highlights in her hair. “Only here.” “Here?” Her brow wrinkled in continued confusion. So, so cute. He wanted to scoop her into his arms and take her right to the loft. Still, his fucking animal might make an appearance again, so he didn’t make a move. “I own a lot of land around here.” “Oh?” “And part of that land is a vineyard.” Surprise filled her eyes. “You made this wine?” “Yeah.” Pushing her empty bowl away, Sophie placed her elbows on the table and notched her chin into her hand. He could see the buzz of questions zipping around in her brain. He sighed. “Ask away.” She tipped her head, her hair sliding down her shoulders, and laughed. “Am I that obvious?” “Yes.” He grabbed his glass of wine and eased back in the low-backed wooden chair. He didn’t know why he opened this door inside him, why he wanted to give her this. Maybe it was the sated feeling after sex and a good meal. Maybe it was the warm quiet of the night. Or maybe, God help him, he wanted to give her anything she wanted. Including himself.

She hummed, the hum that always made him itchy to grab her. “Where should I begin?” *** The question she really wanted to ask was what’s wrong? Yet from the slump of his broad shoulders and the shift of his body on the chair, he wouldn’t stand for an interrogation. Sophie supposed she could take him by the hand like she’d done a few hours ago, using sex to take his mind off whatever was troubling him, but that hadn’t worked, had it? Not in the hot pool and not in the bed upstairs. In fact, the sex had seemed to make him even more agitated and angry. The man in front of her still had that ugly look in his eye and still appeared emotionally fragile. Alexander Stravoudas. Fragile. A month ago, if she’d thought of him this way, she would have laughed at herself. Now, the tug of her love threatened to sink her heart into a pit of worry. She needed to help him. Yet how? “Come on.” He waved one brute hand at her. “Ask away.” “Tell me about your little horses.” Surprise was always a good tactic. She took another sip of his fantastic wine and watched for his response from behind her eyelashes. Caramel brows rose in disbelief. “That’s what you want to talk about?” “For now, yes.” She gave him a teasing smile, trying to lighten the tone, trying to bring him out of his funk. Perhaps then, he’d tell her what rumbled in his soul. He chuckled softly and her heart lifted.

“Fine. Where do I begin?” He ran his fingers through his loose hair. The curls clung to his ear and splashed along his collarbone and shoulders like a shower of golden coins. He hadn’t shaved since they’d left Paris; it showed clearly in the beginnings of a dark honey burr on his jaw. The deep blue of his simple wool sweater brought out the highlights in those impossible eyes of his. He was so perfect, so perfectly enticing, she had a hard time focusing on trying to help him find his way out of the minefield he’d strayed into. But she needed to. Being his lover wasn’t going to fix this. Whatever this was. “They’re Thessalys.” He took a sip of his wine, his wide mouth drawing her attention. “They’re almost extinct and I decided to do something about it.” “Thessalys?” He looked at her, the twinkling tease back in his eyes. “Supposedly, Alexander the Great’s horse was from Thessalian stock.” “So of course, the modern day Alexander the Great had to have one too.” She smiled at him as her heart soared at seeing the twinkle. “Actually, I have a dozen.” He gave her back a smile, his real one, and to her satisfaction, the light in his blue eyes didn’t dim. “I’m breeding them.” “Do you ride them?” Alex let out a bark of laughter. “With these legs?” Sophie let her gaze travel over the leg he had thrust out from under the table. The jeans lovingly hugged the long length of his thigh while only hinting at the strength of his calf. Her inspection landed on his bare feet, big and male and brutish. A month ago, she

would have said they were ugly, like his hands. Now, she found them, both his hands and his feet, inexplicably enticing. “But I can see you on one of them.” He hadn’t noticed her perusal because he was too busy staring into the fire. “You’d be very pretty on top of one of the mares.” “Pretty?” She scrunched her brow. “I’d say the word would be terrified.” His gaze jerked around to meet hers. “You’ve never ridden?” “Nope.” She placed her empty glass down. “I never plan on doing it either.” “Honestly?” Grabbing the wine bottle, he filled her goblet and his. “Sophia Feuer? Afraid of something?” She snorted. “I’m afraid of a lot of things.” “No way.” He gave her another smile as he sipped. “Not the firecracker I know.” “You’d be surprised.” She shouldn’t drink anymore, her head was definitely getting a bit fuzzy and her words slightly slurred. Yet the fire and the cozy hut and the man sitting across from her made her want to draw this time out into infinity. Alex fiddled with the stem of his glass and threw her a cautious glance. The warm, fuzzy happy feeling inside her slid away. “What?” “Time for me to ask a question?” “That was a question right there.” She straightened her spine. “My turn again.” Sighing, he leaned back in his chair once more. “Go ahead.”

Keeping it light was for the best, yet how could she possibly help him if she didn’t start to dig? She had to start with at least a tentative probe. “Why doesn’t your family know about this place? They’d love it.” “You’re an expert on what my family would love?” The words were pointed, but his tone was contemplative. Sophie took heart and dug in. “Why, Alex?” One big hand dropped onto his flat stomach in apparent defeat. “Because this was where my dad grew up.” “This exact place?” She glanced around the hut. “No, no.” Another chuckle. “This place is new. I designed it.” “You did?” Surprise ran through her and then she remembered his sketches. The simple beauty of the lines and the warmth of the setting. Yes, she could see him designing this lovely, cozy home. “I did.” This time his smile was smug and instead of irritating her, his arrogance made her amused. “Anyway, my dad grew up at the big house. His family worked there.” “Like Nella and Petros?” “Not exactly.” His gaze went distant as if he traveled into another world. “He worked for the old man I bought the property from.” “Oh.” “He loved it here, but he hated it.” His wide mouth firmed. “He said he loved the land, but hated not being in charge.” “I can understand that.” She gave him an arch grin.

“Miss Business-Owner-In-Charge.” His smile came back at her, teasing and tempting. “I guess you could. Still, I didn’t understand as a kid.” “He told you about this place when you were a kid?” Alex nodded and took one more sip of his wine. “But he didn’t tell your mother or your sisters about it?” “I think it was a pride issue.” His voice took on an edge of something. Irritation? At his father? Or perhaps she imagined it. “He told you, though.” “Yeah.” With an abrupt jolt, he stood and strode over to the dying fire. Lifting another log off the bin, he threw it in, and then, kneeling, he used the steel poker like he wanted to stab someone instead of a log. “He always wanted to return here and buy the place. Wipe out some bad memories, I guess.” “But he died before he could.” The muscles along his spine tensed. “Yes.” They were circling around something here. She didn’t know how it was tied to his agitation about Henry and his work, yet instinctively, she knew it was. The memory of the last time they’d talked about his dad returned to her. He’d paced away from her like he wanted to explode into a run. At the time, she’d put it down to his usual animosity toward anything she did or said. Now? Now she didn’t think this was the reason. “How did he die, Alex?” She tiptoed into his minefield. Surging to his feet, he punched his fists on his hips. “He had a heart attack.”

The simple, smooth words didn’t fit with his taut body and twitchy movements. “That must have been horrible for you.” “Horrible for my family.” He swung around, the ugliness back in the depths of his eyes, but he didn’t march off like he had in Paris. Instead, he stomped to the table and grabbed his glass. Sophie guessed she could count that as some sort of progress. “So you bought this place for him.” His head yanked up from contemplating his wine. The azure blue of his eyes deepened as his mouth pursed. “Yeah, I guess.” “But you built this place for yourself.” She kept her focus on him, willing him to tell her more, realize more. His gaze narrowed. “Your point?” She didn’t know the entire point, and, apparently, he didn’t either. Frustration ran through her because she could feel the strands of meaning swirling around them. Still, neither of them had all the answers. Not yet. “Perhaps there isn’t a point.” He laughed, but it wasn’t his real one. This one was harsh and hard. Taking a swig of wine, he slid into his chair. “Enough about me.” Frustration ran right into sorrow. She could tell by the set of his mouth and the tight line of his jaw, he’d gone as far as he could go. For tonight.

“Okay.” She girded herself because she could see in his expression what he wanted to talk about now. “Your turn to ask questions.” “The tragic story.” “The silly story.” And it was. Silly that she’d held onto the hurt for so long making it come between her and so many important situations. Like connecting to this man. “Tell me.” Sophie sighed and closed her eyes. In her imagination, she saw herself more than a decade ago. Young and happy and naive. “I had a crush on a boy my senior year of high school.” He grunted as if he disapproved. Her eyes popped open to meet his. The blue had frost around the edges. “What? You can’t be jealous of a guy I knew over ten years ago.” “Sure, I can.” He sipped his wine like he hadn’t said something astonishing. “Plus, I have a feeling already that I won’t like this guy and what he did to you.” Her eyes widened. Alex was right. He wasn’t going to like what that high school jerk had done. “It wasn’t that big of a deal.” “No?” The frost hardened. “Whatever he did hurt you and the experience has stayed with you for years.” “Well, I—” “Tell me what he did.”

Taking another sip of wine, she was suddenly glad she had a fuzzy head. The old pain seemed very far away and inconsequential. “He asked me to the prom.” “You were ecstatic.” “Yes.” She chuckled, but the sound must have conveyed something besides amusement because Alex’s gaze narrowed. His big hand fisted by his glass. “Go on.” “I bought this gorgeous dress.” She closed her eyes at the memory. “A red dress.” She nodded, admiring his perceptiveness. “He picked me up and took me to the dance.” A short silence fell. “And?” he finally said. “And I had a good time.” She forced herself to open her eyes and stare at him across the table. “The dress showed my cleavage.” He could have easily made a snarky remark and she’d bet that a month ago, he would have. Now, all he did was look back at her. “After the dance, he took me to an after-party at a hotel.” She spoke the words with precision so she wouldn’t let out any emotion. “A bunch of his friends were there with their dates. There was liquor.” “Yeah?” His voice was gentle. “I hadn’t drunk much before.” She glanced down at her hands and was surprised to see her knuckles were white. “I told him I didn’t want to drink.”

“He made you drink too much?” “No.” She husked a painful laugh. “He did more than that. Or at least, I’m pretty sure he did.” “What?” His voice came with a sharp cut. “He spiked my drink. The one drink I accepted at the party.” She clutched her wine glass to do something with her hands. “I don’t remember much else about that night.” “What was this guy’s name?” Sophie glanced over to meet his fierce blue gaze. “What does it matter?” “I’m thinking of tracking him down when we return to New York City.” A zing of reluctant pleasure ran through her. “Don’t be silly. The whole thing happened a long time ago.” He grunted and leaned back. “That’s the tragic story?” “No.” She swallowed. “That’s the prelude.” His mouth went grim. “I am really going to need to know this guy’s name.” “He took pictures,” she blurted. “After I’d passed out.” “Pictures…” “Of me. Mostly naked.” “How do you know this?” His gaze went from fierce to fiery. “He showed them around school.” The same numbness she’d felt all those years ago crept from her stomach to her heart. “Finally, he…” “He?”

“Posted them on his Facebook page.” “Dammit, Sophie.” The pain in his voice made her wince. But she wanted it all out. This was the first time she’d ever said anything about the fiasco since it happened and for some reason, she wanted every little bit of the story explained. “I got called a lot of names. People laughed at me.” She forced her own laugh. “I can assure you, the last part of my senior year of high school was not the best time of my life.” “His name. What is his name?” She stared at him. His face blazed with anger and his hands were fisted like he was ready to do battle. His protectiveness made her heart turn to mush. How she wished she’d had a gallant Alexander the Great by her side when she’d been seventeen. “It’s okay. My dad sued his family and the school. Eventually, every picture was destroyed. He got expelled, too.” “It’s not okay.” Alex surged to his feet and circled the table. Before she could object, he’d swept her into his arms. “Look at me, Sophie.” Dizzy from the wine and also from the confession, she laid her head on his strong arm and stared into his eyes. “They called me a fat cow.” His mouth twisted and she saw her own pain in his eyes. “Sophie—” “They said I had udders.” She sniffed, trying to stuff the tears back. He walked to the sofa and sat down with her in his arms. The firelight flickered across the stern planes of his face as he stared at her. “Sophie.” “Yeah?” She sniffed once more.

“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” A husky, disbelieving laugh escaped her. “O-okay.” “I mean it.” His big hand slipped under her sweater and pushed it to her neck, exposing her big bosom stuffed into a bra. “If it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to make you realize I mean it.” He shifted her into the corner of the sofa and knelt on the floor. She felt dazed and deflated, as if telling her silly story had taken everything out of her: her heart, her mind, her soul. She wanted to lean on the sofa’s cushions and fall asleep and pretend the silly story away—just as she had years before. “Hey.” Alex wrenched her back into the present when he tugged her sweater over her head. “What?” She knew she sounded sulky. A month ago, he would have laughed at her. Tonight, his serious gaze latched onto hers. “I’m going to show you I mean it.” Flicking at her bra’s clasp, he pulled it off her. She was naked from her waist up and the firelight highlighted every big bulge. In any other circumstance, she would have immediately clasped her arms around her, hiding. But she didn’t. Because it was Alex. She trusted him not to hurt her. Her heart twirled inside her as the knowledge sank in. “Look at you,” he crooned. His broad hands, with their blunt, thick fingers, slid over her breasts, plumping them. “Look how they fill my hands. Perfectly.”

She glanced down. She rarely looked at her chest. Her boobs were stuck into a bra and left alone for the most part. “Your breasts are beautiful.” He put his perfect nose right into her too-big cleavage. The tickle of his tongue made her squirm. The lethargy began to clear from her brain and the flush of embarrassment slid away, overcome by lust. “That feels good.” His head came up. “This isn’t about sex.” “No?” She frowned in confusion. “No,” he said, a determined expression on his face. “This is about showing you how you are beautiful to me all the time. When we’re having sex or when we’re not.” “All the time?” “Yeah.” His hands moved across her skin, a soft, sweet slide. “Your breasts were made to fit into my hands, krotída mou.” “Oh.” She glanced down again and realized he was right. Her big breasts fit his big hands. “And I would be completely happy looking at your breasts and playing with them all night long.” “Really?” She still didn’t believe. This gorgeous man could have anyone and he picked her, wanted her above every other woman? He was willing to do nothing but play? “And nothing else?” “Nothing else.” He leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on the tips of each of her nipples.

A shiver of something, something that wasn’t lust, whispered through her. There was something in the way he caressed her, something in the way he placed his kisses, like a tribute, like an homage, that made her realize this wasn’t about sex for him. This was something more. “Do you see?” He lifted his gaze, the blue crystal clear and deep. Sophie looked into his eyes and saw. She saw he meant everything he’d said. She was beautiful to him. All the time. And she was made to fit him.


Chapter Twenty-One

The snow made a very satisfactory ball. Sophie slapped it one more time and then looked at her target. As usual, Alex strode ahead of her, his long legs slicing through the piles of snow lining the path towards the horse barn. And as usual, she needed to do something to lighten his mood. The snowball smacked him right in the back of his head. He jerked to a stop. Then turned slowly, menacingly. Sophie was ready. The next snowball landed right at the side of his mouth, plastering his face with a nice layer of white stuff. The next missile needed to go right between those gorgeous blue eyes of his. Maybe the impact would knock some sense into him. “You.” The brown woolen cap he wore was pulled down low on his forehead, but it didn’t disguise the gleam in his gaze. “You better watch out.”

“Ha.” She swung down and scooped up another handful of snow. She took satisfaction in seeing some life appear in those eyes after a long day of moody introspection. She wanted to see something besides the ugliness that slipped in and out, rather like the squall of clouds that had rolled across the Greek skies all day. The snow clumped into another very nice ball. “Don’t.” The threat rang in his voice, but he didn’t make a move towards her. He acted like he was afraid to come near her. He’d been like this all day: skirting around her in the kitchen as she cooked breakfast, staying in the bathroom until she’d worried he’d fallen down the bathtub drain, staring out the window for a complete hour as she tried to read a book. The whole thing was utterly ridiculous. They were lovers. After last night’s conversation, when his big hands and his beautiful words had healed something deep inside her, they’d gone to the loft and she’d thought their connection couldn’t be improved on. Until. Once again. He did the whole Mr. Perfect Lover routine over her objections. Was that why he kept away? Had he taken her tiny little suggestions, which he’d ignored, as a slur? Idiot. Sophie took her frustration and wrapped it around her new missile. Slinging it forward, with a pitch her softball coach would have been proud of, she hit the exact spot she’d hoped for. Stumbling back, he brushed the snow off his eyebrows and eyelashes.

“Come on, Alex,” she taunted. “Fight me.” His mouth twisted into a forbidding grimace, but that spark of life still shone in his eyes. “We were going to go see the horses.” Her idea. She’d figured she’d even be willing to climb onto one of those scary animals if the action brought him out of his funk. He wouldn’t talk about what was bothering him. She’d tried to dig it from him without success. He wouldn’t discuss the emir—her reference to the man was met by an unwelcoming grunt. He wouldn’t even argue when she made various guesses about what troubled him. Stony silence was his only response. If she could confide the most awful, horrible, tragic story of her life, why couldn’t he confide in her? Bright, hot hurt mingled with frustration. “Before we get to the horses.” She formed another ball in her hands. “We’re going to have a snowball fight.” With a savage growl, at last, he leapt. With a quick screech, she turned and ran. She didn’t get far. His gloved hands grabbed her by her flying ponytail and then, when she stumbled, they clutched her around the hips. “No!” A cold breeze swept past as she found herself soaring through the air, falling into a mound of snow almost as big as she was. His satisfied laugh echoed above her.

At least she’d got him to laugh. Clambering to her knees, she shot him a baleful look. “You deserved it.” His wide mouth grinned, and finally, finally, his eyes were the clear, cerulean blue that told her the storms had blown away. For now. Being short had certain advantages. Like being able to dive toward a big lug’s legs before he knew he was in trouble. “Whoa!” His long arms waved around him as she yanked once more on his jeans, flipping him into his own mound of snow. She stood, brushing the snow off her gloves, looking down at him with smug delight. “Guess you aren’t so big after all.” One long arm reached out and jerked on her red scarf, bringing her down with a slam onto his splayed body. “Big enough for you,” he muttered, before sliding his mouth over hers and slipping his tongue right in. Sophie moaned and immediate heat ran through her blood. Along with it came determination. She wanted to show him what she’d meant last night with her tiny, little suggestions. She wanted the real Alex, not the perfect one. A nip on his lower lip. A thrust of her own tongue that then wrapped around his own. Her gloved hands skidding across his jaw and under his hat to pull on his hair. “Sophie,” he whispered.

She pulled herself up to look into his eyes. Trouble circled around the edges. Yet there was something else there, something she wanted to believe in, to trust in. Something she yearned for with every part of her soul and body. “Alex,” she whispered back. I love you. How she wanted to say the words, but she held them close, worried they would only confuse him more. Instinct told her he needed to figure out the ugliness inside before she could lay her love before him. His gaze went cloudy again and his mouth tightened. “We’re getting all wet.” “I have an idea.” She put on a happy smile. “Let’s really get wet. In your lovely hot pool.” He chuckled. “Nope. Not going to happen, Miss I’m-Afraid-Of-Tiny-LittleHorses.” She tried on a pout and got a quick shot of pleasure when the blue of his eyes darkened with desire. “I’ll get naked. I promise.” “Yes, I’m sure you will.” He pushed her to stand and stood himself. “You seem to be quite keen on doing that all the time lately.” “You like it.” “True.” He captured her hand and pulled her toward the barn. “But right now, I’d like to see you on one of my horses.” Sophie groaned. Alex laughed.

And because of that laugh, she soon found herself perched about one hundred miles above the ground on the back of an extremely large animal. “This is Arion.” He patted the side of her mount, his gloved hand moving on the bay coat. “He’s very tame.” “He’s very big.” She held herself stiff and still, hoping the horse would do the same. “No, he’s honestly not.” Before she could ask him to please, please pull her off this beast, he sauntered toward the end of the barn, leaving her alone to wallow in a rising tide of terror. “Oh. God.” Her hands tightened on the leather straps he’d placed into her hands. She wanted to shiver and shake, but then this animal would do the same and she’d topple off right onto the straw-lined cement. Petros came through the open barn door, his wise eyes noticing her anxiety immediately. “Despoinís Sophia, Despoinís Sophia,” he crooned, walking over and grabbing onto the dangling reins. “Can you get me off this horse, Petros? Please?” “Don’t do it.” Alex’s voice rang down the aisle between the stalls. A half a dozen snorts from a line of horses responded to his dictate and Petros’s response to her request was a resigned smile. “Okay, Stravoudas.” She would have loved to yell. But if she did, this creature under her would bolt. Perhaps, probably. So instead, she modulated her tone to one of mild…fear. “I got on the biggest horse you have. Now I want off.”

“Who told you Arion was the biggest?” He appeared from a stall, leading a monster of a horse behind him. Its head rose above Alex’s head by a good foot and the gleaming black coat rippled with muscle. “Oh. God.” “See?” He flashed her a smile, before swinging himself onto the horse’s back. “This is big.” “Oh. God.” “Is that all you’re going to say?” A caramel brow arched. “Usually you bring more to the conversation.” “Get me down.” And away. Far away from the biggest horse she’d ever imagined. Plus, this big one she was on, too, come to think of it. He ignored her. “This is Voukefalas.” A big name for an extraordinarily big animal. “My horse. He’s part Arabian. That’s why he’s bigger than the other horses.” He nudged the animal with his knees and much to her horror, the beast sidled over to right by her own. “I call him Vouk for short.” “Wonderful.” Sophie sucked in a sharp, choppy breath. “Now that we’ve met, can I go? Away?” Her lover chuckled. “No, we’re just getting started.” “Oh. God.” “Petros has plowed out a path around the track paddock so we can ride.” Her heart rate went into overdrive. “Track? We’re going to race?”

“Not unless you want to.” She shot him a look of horror. “Don’t worry.” Still chuckling, he bent down and grabbed the middle of her reins and then nudged his monster again. The animal obediently began to pace out of the barn, dragging her horse, and her, behind. “Alex.” Her voice quivered. He glanced back, his eyes serious. “Trust me.” Oh. God. This time, she said it silently, because she wanted to show him she did trust him. The air was brisk and the sky had finally cleared. Petros jogged ahead of them and opened a thick, wooden gate so they could pass through. Alex turned both horses onto a pathway between a line of fences on one side and another on the other side, making a wide circle. The circle was filled with a white sea of snow and she saw the fresh pile Petros had recently plowed at one end. “All right?” Alex tugged on her horse and both horses strutted into a fast walk. “What if I said no?” She got another chuckle for that. They kept the same pace all around the track until they arrived back at where they started. Taking a deep breath of relief in, she managed a smile. “That was entertaining and now it’s time to—” “Trust me. You’re going to have a lot more entertainment.” He let go of her reins.

He let go. Her horse took a dance to the side. Her breath lodged in her throat like a boulder. “I don’t think—” “Relax your legs,” he ordered. “Arion thinks you want him to move.” She slammed her eyes shut and imagined herself in her bakery, baking. “Good.” His voice came from her side, calm and reassuring. “Now open your eyes.” “I don’t think I can do that and relax at the same time.” “Sure you can, Sophie. You can do anything.” The total belief in his voice made her insides melt and gave her courage. She opened her eyes to gaze right between the perked ears of her mount. The view showcased the mountain’s snowy hillside sloping down and down to a splendid lake. She’d spent most of her time indoors and had never ventured farther than the hut and the house and the stables. Look at what she’d missed. “Gosh. It’s beautiful.” “Yeah.” His voice came soft and almost hesitant. “It is.” A realization pinged into her conscience. She’d seen this man in New York, being the charming, arrogant, successful entrepreneur. She’d seen him in Paris, fitting into the richness of the culture, a connoisseur of what the city had to offer. But here, here she saw the raw, the real. Even though he’d been surly and strange since they arrived here, she saw. She saw him. She looked over and caught his attention. “This isn’t your home, Alex. This is your heart.”

A silence fell between them, filled only by the gentle swish of the wind in the evergreens and the muted whinny of one of the horses inside the barn. Her lover abruptly broke the connection between them by jerking his gaze back to the track. “Let’s go.” His mount responded to some unspoken command by surging forward, seeming to fly down the path with the grace of a mystical Pegasus. “Wait, Arion—” Before she could grab onto a fence post and climb off the beast, her own mount followed. The horse flew after the other beast with Sophie clinging to the reins and the edge of her saddle. “Help!” Instantly, Alex checked his horse and pulled to her side. “Relax, Soph.” “I can’t—” “Sit back and don’t squeeze your legs.” His voice came, even and confident. “Roll with Arion’s gait.” Her heart chugged, chugged, but she forced her legs to loosen. “That’s it.” He was here, right beside her and even though she’d seen the turbulence in his gaze before he swung away, she knew he wouldn’t let her get hurt. Her words had stirred the hornet’s nest inside him, still, he wouldn’t hold it against her. She knew that. She trusted him. “Take a deep breath.” She breathed. “Now ease back in the saddle like you’re sitting in a rocking chair.”

Concentrating, she allowed the muscles along her spine to relax and the horse under her responded by settling into a rolling, tranquil pace. They went around the circle once. Then twice. All of a sudden, she got it. Moving with the animal, instead of trying to figure out her own rhythm. Becoming attuned to each movement beneath her and compensating with a lean here and a touch there. A joy, a profound, eternal joy sprung from the center and wound through her like an unexpected gift. “This is amazing.” She glanced at him and met his azure eyes. He stared at her as the horses moved beneath them; the sun played light on the snow; the air brushed their skin with a cool breeze. The moment seemed to go on forever and something inside her lurched and shuddered. Something like her past and present and future all rolling into this man. “What?” She tried to taunt the poignancy from the moment because he was suddenly too much to take in. His presence and what he’d come to mean to her. “Is something on my face?” “Yeah.” His one word whispered toward her, circling around and around inside her heart. A blazing connection she’d never felt with anyone else on the entire planet crackled between them. And she knew then and there, that she not only loved this man for now, but she would also love him forever.


Chapter Twenty-Two

Sophie sat at Alex’s architect desk and sifted through the sketches she’d spotted the first day here in his hut. During the entire time she’d been here, he hadn’t glanced this way at all. Not once had she seen him sit down and draw, even though it was clear this desk was well used. Was it because she was here? Ready to pounce with her questions and suggestions? Was he reluctant to follow his obvious passion because she might insist on knowing what he felt when he drew his lovely homes instead of his imposing and impressive dick buildings? Sighing, she stood and ambled to the fireplace. On her tiptoes, she scanned the clutter. Unlike his NY penthouse mantel, these items weren’t chosen to impress. They were here because they meant something to Alex. But what? She hadn’t a clue.

Three days she’d been here with him. They’d ridden every day. They’d had another rousing snowball fight. They’d hiked down to the pond several times. They’d cooked together and yes, laughed together. They’d made love. Kind of. Because just as with the other activities, she felt as if she were wrestling with two different men. In bed and out. The Perfect Man would appear every time: the charming smile, the smooth moves, the bland gaze. Then, because she had to, she’d poke and prod. And right before her eyes, Mr. Perfect would disappear and in his place would be the surly, angry, growling man with the ugliness in his eyes and the dangerous trouble bubbling in his soul. Sophie snagged a black-and-white photo held within a simple wooden frame. The man looking back at her had a smile much like Alex’s, yet his wide dark eyes and black hair reminded her of Ceci. Alex’s father. Had to be. He appeared confident, happy, alive. He died of a heart attack. The words had been smooth that night, delivered in Mr. Perfect’s usual even tone, but underneath, she’d heard and felt the pain and the ache in the real Alex. You loved him. Yeah.

That wasn’t a big deal. She loved her dad too. Most people loved their fathers. Still, there was something here beyond that. During the last few days, she’d watched him come back to this photograph over and over again. She’d watched his back grow taut, his hands fist, and when he’d turned away, every time, she’d seen the ugly in his eyes. “Oh, Alex.” She slid her finger across the photo tracing the dark eyebrows that arched exactly like his son’s. “What is going on with you?” He’d hiked to the main house this morning to get some supplies. She’d decided not to go with him because she wanted some time to dig. If she couldn’t dig it out of him, maybe this hut would yield some clues. Putting the photo down, she grabbed an old pair of spurs. Three days ago, she wouldn’t have had a clue what they were, but she’d learned. They were small, too small even for her. A child’s spurs. The iron had oxidized long before, leaving a reddish tinge. The color contrasted nicely with the silver plating. Sophie turned the spurs in her hands. There was a brass decoration on the sides with a tiny horse head inlaid at each end. Why did he have these spurs on his mantel? That was important to him. To get ahead. To make his mark. Alex wouldn’t talk about anything of consequence, yet she’d noticed the few times she’d mentioned his father again, he would become even more agitated than usual. Had his dad given him these spurs? Had there been some silent prod in the gift?

Laying down the spurs, she plucked up the next photo. This one was of Henry and Alex. They were very young, probably still in college. Both were lanky and a bit gawky, with wide grins and casual clothes. Surprisingly, Henry had longer hair than Alex; a thick, straight fall to his shoulders. For all the trouble lying between the two men, it was clear to her they had a long and loving history binding them together. Why didn’t Henry see his partner didn’t want to build the emir’s dick skyscraper? He was Alex’s best friend, and yet blind to what seemed so obvious to her. Alex needed to be designing and building lovely family homes, not big, black dick skyscrapers. Had he never shown his best friend his secret sketches? From the way he’d reacted to her looking at them, she’d bet he hadn’t. Why not? The next picture was of Alex’s mom and sisters. His maman sat in royal elegance on the straight-backed chair while her daughters circled, some standing behind her, others leaning on the arms. Ceci smiled brightly from her perch at her mother’s feet. Alex’s love for his family was real and deep. He’d been willing to talk about his sisters and their husbands, his nieces and nephews, and his beloved maman. But she’d detected something else within the love. A thread of guilt, a whisper of angry remorse. He also did too much for them. Or at least he did, in Sophie’s opinion. He managed his mother’s estate, he counseled his sisters on their finances, he appeared to think of himself as Ceci’s quasi-father.

Yesterday, she’d suggested it might be time for his sisters to stop depending on him so much. The subject of his relatives had immediately plopped into the out of bounds box. Why didn’t his sisters and mother see they demanded too much from the perfect son? Why couldn’t they tell there were too many demands for one guy to handle? Slapping the family photo down, she turned and paced into the kitchen. She couldn’t heal his relationship with Henry and he didn’t want to hear her opinions about his relatives. And since Alex’s father was no longer around to quiz, the only thing she could think of to do was cook. It seemed to be all she could do to make her love happy. Even sex with her appeared to be too fraught with trouble for Mr. Perfect. She’d bake something today. Perhaps a delicious pomme tatin with pecans and apples. Or a tarte vanilla or mille-feuille. She didn’t have many ingredients, not like at her bakery, yet she could improvise. Her hand stilled on the wooden counter. Her bakery. This was the busiest time of year for her business. Her dad and her assistants were great and she was sure they were doing a good job, but the bakery was her place, her responsibility. She loved Alex. He needed her here, even though he growled and groused at her endless questions. However, she had a business and she really, really needed to be there. “Fantastic,” she snarled to herself as she lifted the flour container down from the ledge. “Another wonderful conversation topic sure to cheer Mr. Stravoudas.”

The front door slammed open. Jerking around, she saw Alex’s tall silhouette standing in the doorway, tense and taut. He held no bags of supplies in his big, brute hands. The air around him fizzed with tension. “Alex?” She took a step toward him in an immediate, instinctive drive to help. “What’s wrong?” *** “We’re going back to New York.” Sophie’s eyes widened at his harsh tone and Alex cursed himself for taking his anger out on her. He’d been doing it off and on for the entire time they’d been here and she didn’t deserve to bear the brunt of his confused fury. “Well.” She edged around the sofa and walked to him with a tentative smile. “I was just thinking I need to get back to the bakery.” Another slug of guilt slammed into him. Again, he’d only been thinking of himself, his needs, his problems. When all along, he’d stolen Sophie away from her business. A business that meant everything to her. Not everything, his heart whispered and hoped. “I’m sorry.” He stepped into the hut and closed the door behind him with a hard jam. “I’ve taken you away for too long.” “Not too long.” She looked at him, her cocoa eyes warm and kind. “My dad knows how to run a bakery. And anyway, you needed me.” You needed me.

The truth in her words froze a piece of his heart because they were true and he didn’t know how to handle that. He had too many other things in his life to straighten out right now. He didn’t have the time or the energy or even the will to figure out why he needed Sophie. “I had no right to bring you here. It wasn’t in the contract.” Her warm gaze went cold. She took a step back. “The contract?” Hell. Why had he mentioned the contract? Frustration and guilt roiled around the anger until Alex thought his insides might shatter. Instead of being his usual self—the self that knew how to smooth things along, the self that knew where he was going, the self that never lost a grasp on what was important—for the last few days, for the last few weeks and months, he’d been all over the place. Time to stop that for good. “Let’s get packed and on the road.” He ignored her cool silence. “The plane is waiting and we’ll be back in New York City by this evening.” Not knowing what else to say or what else to do, he sprinted into the loft and started stuffing his clothes into his suitcase. She didn’t follow him; he still felt the deadly silence emanating from below. “Come on, Sophie. We need to get going.” “Why are we going back now?” Her voice echoed from the kitchen, a touch of asperity riding the question. “Because I need to get back to finish the deal.” “Finish the deal?” “With the emir.” His hands tightened around a sweater before he slammed it into the suitcase.

“You’re going to build the dick skyscraper?” Her second question was laced with disbelief. “Yes.” He yanked the suitcase zipper closed. “Obviously.” “I thought you told Henry no.” Her little, round face appeared at the head of the staircase. “You said you didn’t want to spend four years—” “I was confused.” Alex turned to look at her. He forced a smile. “But I’m not anymore.” “Really.” She wrapped her arms around her waist. “I’d say the exact opposite.” Immediate anger flooded through his tense body. He didn’t need this. He didn’t need sharp, wise Sophia poking him, questioning his decision. He knew what was right. He knew the promises he’d made. Sure, he’d had a few days here where he’d questioned everything about his life, but that was over and done with. He’d walked into the big house and it was as if his father’s ghost had come from the past to confront him. To make him realize, once more, what he’d momentarily forgotten. There were expectations he couldn’t walk away from. And there were promises he couldn’t break. “Pack.” Wrenching his suitcase off the bed, he passed her tense body. “I’ll be waiting by the car.” He had to wait a good half hour before Sophie appeared, dragging her luggage behind her. “I should say good-bye to Nella and Petros.”

“I already did for both of us.” He grabbed her suitcase and threw it in the back, slamming the car door behind. “Time to get going.” In the entirety of their strange relationship, there’d been all kinds of silences between them. There’d been the silences filled with tension, silences filled with questions, even silences filled with peace. Still, this silence he’d never experienced with her. The silence filling the car now was one of disappointment, disillusion… Disenchantment. Something inside his heart wrenched and tore. Alex ignored it, focusing on the winding road before him. Sophie might be his lover, and yes, his friend, but she didn’t know everything about him. She didn’t understand what drove him. Because you won’t tell her. His hands tightened on the wheel. How could he? How could he confide his darkest, ugliest secret, when all he wanted was for her to respect him? When all he wanted was the warmth of her cocoa eyes smiling at him with affection and lust and… love. The little frozen piece of his heart cracked. He didn’t have time for this. He didn’t have the energy to take on someone else’s needs and hopes and love. And who even knew if Sophie felt the same? Knowing his firecracker, if she felt anything for him at all other than desire, she’d have said so. Alex forced himself to glance over. She met his gaze, her brown eyes muddy and dark. “I’m fine,” he said.

“No, you’re not.” Her bow mouth turned down. The words burned like boiling water, yet he couldn’t go further for her. He couldn’t. She did for you. The memory of her confession of the tragic story, how brave she’d been, how open and vulnerable, hit him right in the center of his chest. The gift had been priceless, far and away the best present he’d ever received. He’d known then that losing Sophie would be the worst moment of his life. But he didn’t have room inside himself to take her on. “Alex, listen to me.” He couldn’t give her what she wanted. He couldn’t betray himself and his father and all the myriad decisions he’d made in his life to get to this point. “I don’t want to talk.” She sighed. “You never want to. Not about what’s truly important.” The tight knot of indecision he’d been dealing with for days, weeks, months billowed inside once more. However, he wouldn’t go down that path again. It led to him being something he was not. Angry, selfish, a traitor to his word. He couldn’t be that man. Not even for Sophie.


Chapter Twenty-Three

Sophie stood in the middle of Alex’s penthouse, surrounded by a boisterous pack of revelers. They laughed and grinned and chatted and cheered. New Year’s Eve did that to a crowd. She shouldn’t be grumpy at them. But she was. Because there couldn’t be another girl in New York City who had less desire to celebrate and dance and drink than yours truly, Sophia Feuer. All this chatting and cheering only made her more aware of her predicament. After New Year’s Eve came New Year’s Day. And after the day came the New Year. The year where Alex would proceed to ruin his life. “Sophie.” Henry appeared at her side, a big grin on his face, his hazel eyes dancing with tipsy glee. “Smile.” She tried.

“No, no.” He wrapped his arm around her and squeezed her to his side. “This won’t do, Soph. You need to be happy on New Year’s Eve.” How could she be happy when Alex was so clearly not? Why couldn’t Henry see this? True, she hadn’t seen much of Alex during the last two weeks they’d been home. She’d been at the bakery for eighteen hours every day trying to fill the holiday orders that had poured in. Even more orders than last year due to the big splash her Paris trip had made on TV. Alex had made himself scarce, too. Whether it was because of his own work or whether he didn't want to hear what she had to say, he’d barely been at this penthouse. They’d made love precisely zero times since getting back to New York. Yet she knew, right down to the bottom of her soul, that what Henry wanted was not what Alex wanted. Being his best friend and his partner, he should know that. “Come on, Sophie.” The dumb lug peered into her face. “What’s wrong?” Everything. Sure, Pure Pastry was going gangbusters and Freddie’s prediction about her becoming a national star appeared like a strong possibility, but everything else? Everything else was wrong. “Henry.” She’d try. Try and make everything right. “Alex isn’t happy.” He frowned and swung his head around looking through the crowd until he spotted his partner across the room by the fireplace. “He looks fine to me.” “He’s not.” She sucked in her breath and made her pitch. “Have you seen any of his sketches of family homes?” “Family homes?” The man’s eyebrows rose in astonishment.

“Obviously not.” How could she explain the brilliance of those ideas if she didn’t have anything to show him? Damn. She should have socked some examples into her suitcase before they’d left Greece. She would have if Alex hadn’t surprised her by demanding to leave within a half hour. “You have to understand.” Tugging her to the side of the room and out of the crowd, Henry leaned in, his face filled with seriousness and condescension. “My partner might blow off steam doodling around, yet his gift is designing big and brilliant.” A tight, hot anger zinged through her. “No, it’s not.” “I know you’re his fiancée and I know you love him.” Sophie blushed, the love so new and fresh, it still startled her. The fact that it was so obvious even clueless Henry could see it disconcerted her. “I’ve known him for years and years, though. He’s always wanted to be the biggest and the best.” Henry squeezed her shoulder, his smile growing wider. “He and our company are on the cusp of becoming just that.” “You are the one who doesn’t—” “Granted, we had a small hiccup in Paris with the emir—” “That wasn’t a hiccup,” she stated, a tang of fury in her voice. “That was your friend trying to break free—” “But that’s been smoothed over since we got back to New York.” He beamed, continuing with his clueless recitation of the facts as he saw them. “Once we get the signed deal for the skyscraper next week, we’ll be right on track to go public by the end of the month. What my partner and I have dreamed of for years is coming true.”

She looked at his face and knew it was hopeless. He wouldn’t listen exactly like Alex wouldn’t listen. “Cheer up.” He flicked his finger under her chin. “Soon your fiancé is going to be the talk of the town again.” Deep inside, a sudden chord of understanding rang. The man she’d met—the Perfect Man, a part of the Perfect Couple—had been a mirage. A caricature of the real man; the man she’d spotted in Paris and found in Greece. Alex, along with a big help from Henry and everyone else around him other than her, was trying to slip back into that suit he thought defined him. A suit of needing to be perfect and needing to make everyone happy. A suit that was going to stifle him and make him terribly unhappy. However, no one would listen to her, not even the Perfect Man himself. So what was a girl to do? Drink. Giving Henry a tight smile, she edged away. “Time I got some champagne.” He gave her a last cheerful wave and disappeared into the crowd. Her depression deepened. With a weary sigh, she trudged into the cold, lifeless kitchen, filled with another happy group of revelers, and glanced around for some champagne. Or maybe some whiskey. Or perhaps she’d go right to pure alcohol. “Sophie.” Freddie bopped to her side, her smile as wide as Henry’s and as damaging to her latest chemical peel as sitting in the burning sun for an hour or two. “You look amazing.”

Looking down at the red dress and gold shoes her fake fiancé had bought her, she felt a pointed pang of bittersweet emotion run through her. She’d picked this dress for tonight to send a signal to him. To show him he’d healed her and she was whole now. She’d hoped he would understand that he could heal too and he could be whole. Instead, he’d glanced over her once and then, ignored her for the rest of the night. “Thanks.” She managed a stiff smile and grabbed a full glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray. “Alex chose it.” “He has superb taste, your fiancé.” Her producer nodded her head wisely. “Just look at this magnificent penthouse.” A place he didn’t fit in. An image flashed through her brain of him riding his horse: his head thrown back in laughter, the brown wool hat fraying at the edges, his blue eyes blazing with freedom and fun. “I mean, the elegant lines of this kitchen are stunning,” Freddie continued. Other images sped by: the simple lines of his hideout, the rugged lines of his pool, the welcoming lines in his drawings of family homes. “The only thing I don’t like about this place is that strange aquarium in the dining room.” “Actually, it’s a terrarium. And it’s the best part of this whole damn place.” The older woman gave her a look of astonishment. Maybe it had something to do with the way Sophie had said the words. Stinging and enraged.

She’d tried to keep her spirits buoyed for hours now. She’d tried to be the fiancée she’d promised him she’d be. She’d greeted all his guests and hers. She’d put on the red dress. She’d put on a happy face. Still, suddenly, it was just too much. Turning, she paced out of the kitchen. “Sophie,” Freddie cried, but her voice was soon swallowed by the chatter of the crowd circling the center of the room, propping themselves on the ugly leather couches and crazy, spacey chairs. Her cozy, warm apartment would be empty now that her mom and dad had left for Florida. She’d go back there and sulk. Perhaps, God help her, even cry for a while. “Sophie.” Melanie and Jack materialized from the crowd, both smiling like everything was right with the world. Their world. Not hers. “Hey.” Her teeth gritted as she plastered on another fake smile. “You need more champagne.” Jack glanced at the empty glass she gripped in her cold hand. “Let me take care of that.” “Everything okay?” Melanie turned back from smiling at her departing boyfriend to eye her with a skeptical gaze. “Why do I think all is not well between you and Alex?” “Why would you say that?” Mel had been her confidant from the moment they’d met in college, but her best friend didn’t see the real Alex and she wouldn’t understand her fears for him. “I don’t know.” Mel slid her hand down Sophie’s arm, a worried look crossing her face. “Maybe the fact that I haven’t seen you together all evening?”

“Neither of us cling.” She kept the smile on her face. “We like to mingle.” “You are both independent.” Her friend focused on her face with a keen gaze. “And did I mention, perfectly suited to one another?” “Yes.” The smile began to give her a headache. What she really wanted to do was escape the fact she couldn’t reach Alex. She couldn’t help him and she couldn’t heal him in time to save him from the disaster he was heading towards. “I believe you have mentioned it.” “Don’t give up on that.” Mel squeezed her arm in encouragement. “I know with Jack, we went through some tough times, but it was worth it in the end.” “Here we are.” Jack’s eager grin and held-out champagne glass effectively stopped the counseling session, much to Sophie’s relief. A few more moments of Mel’s affection and concern, and she’d have begun a weepfest. “Thanks, Jack.” She hid behind her glass, taking a long sip of the sweet, zippy liquor. “Mel, I wanted us to be standing by the windows when the midnight clock ticks down.” Jack glanced at his watch. “We better head over there now.” “Go on.” She waved them away, keeping the headache-inspiring smile on. “I’m fine here.” “Go find Alex.” Melanie threw at her as she was whisked off. Because of her stilettos, Sophie could see over a few shoulders. It didn’t take much to spot him once more. Now he stood with Henry by the glass-enclosed pool, both laughing and joking as if everything was right, everything was perfect.

The darkness behind him, lit only by the muted blur of the lighted pool, seemed ready to swallow him whole. His golden hair gleamed from the lights above; his broad shoulders filled the custom-made tux; his tall, lean length exuded surety and strength and stamina. But the only thing she saw was the vulnerable man, the man who couldn’t see himself truly and so was throwing himself into a bottomless pit for at least four years. And horribly, there wasn’t anything she could do. The tightness in her throat, something she’d been fighting all evening, all day, for weeks, the tightness swelled. She needed to leave. Right now. Sophie wove through the crowd to the front door, keeping her head down, blocking any further conversation. Attempting to muscle through to the closet to get her coat, she was stopped by a firm grip from a small hand. “Where are you going?” Away from here. Yet evidently, sneaking out wasn’t going to be easy. She turned to meet Alex’s sister’s concerned face. “Hi, Ceci. Happy New Year.” Dark brows crunched and the resemblance to Alex’s caramel frown made her want to cry right here instead of waiting until she got to her apartment. “You don’t look very happy,” Ceci said. “What has he done?” “Alex?” She pinned one last determined smile on her face. “Nothing. Everything’s fine.” Black eyes bored into hers. “He can be a dick.” A choked laugh burst from her mouth. For the first time tonight, someone besides herself saw something in Alex other than his cool perfection. “Yes. He can be.”

“And my bet is, currently, he’s being one to you.” His sister’s grip tightened. “Isn’t he?” “Not to me.” A strong yearning came over her, a yearning to lay her head on the younger woman’s shoulders and surrender all of her emotions. Rather than making that mistake, she allowed herself a tiny slip, a small confession. “To himself.” Ceci’s expression went blank. “What?” “Never mind.” She patted the hand on her arm. “It’s nothing.” “If you’re worried, and you obviously are, it’s something.” Deep, dark eyes stared at her. The memory of the photo of Alex’s father washed through Sophie. These were the same eyes, the same gleam, the same determination. “Ceci—” “If you say there’s a problem with him, then there is.” The younger woman’s wide mouth, so like her brother’s, firmed. “You need to fix it.” The weight of the demand settled on her shoulders like a large boulder. “I can’t.” “I knew the moment I saw you—you were what my brother needed.” His sister’s claim blazed with assurance. “I also know a fighter when I see one.” “I don’t think—” “There must be something you can do.” Ceci’s words rang inside her head like a gong. Boom. Boom. Boom. There must be something you can do. And then it hit. A terrible idea. A perfect idea.

“You’ve thought of something. I can see it on your face.” His sister’s voice rose in excitement. “What is it?” What it was was a betrayal. What it was was breaking a promise. What it was was Alex’s escape. She wavered on her golden stilettos. “I don’t know if I can do it.” Ceci’s hand tightened on her arm, not letting her get away. “You can do anything.” Sure you can, Sophie. You can do anything. His sister’s words echoed Alex’s own. The memory of his confidence in her rolled through her like a wave and precisely as before, it melted her heart and stoked her courage. She could do this. For him. “I’ll do it.” “I don’t know what it is, but by the look in your eye, I know it will work.” Ceci gave her a brilliant smile. “Go do your thing.” Her thing. It means firecracker. As in, everything you touch, everything you say, blows up everybody’s plans. Everybody’s dreams. Her heart trembled. Because she would be doing it again, being exactly what he’d accused her of. Destroying his plans and blowing up his dreams.

Yet these weren’t his dreams. They weren’t. She knew this in the core of her being and if she didn’t step forward, if she lost her courage, then she’d lose her heart’s true love and he’d lose his soul. “Go on.” Ceci pushed her at the center of her back. “Go find my brother.” And blow him up. Sophie walked through the crowd in a daze. Her heart jumped in a crazed dance, emotions jangling in a discordant mess. All the consequences of what she was about to do thumped into her brain in a wild march of falling dominos. Alex wouldn’t forgive her. Not for a long time, and perhaps not forever. He would be extremely angry. In that anger, he’d strike out. At her. At her bakery. Her steps stuttered to a stop. She could lose the bakery. She could lose her business. I need you. It was as if he called the words to her in this very room. She felt the need, the pain inside him as if he’d transmitted them into her as they made love. She loved him. Even more than her business. The crowd suddenly surged, and parted, and right before her stood her fake fiancé. The man she’d fallen in love with forever and the man she’d be betraying in a few seconds. If she had the courage. “Sophia.” He waved his brute hand her way. “Come over here and meet someone.”

The man standing beside Alex was blond too. And sleek too. Almost perfect except for the way his dark gaze held only coldness and the way his mouth was edged with cynicism. Walking toward them, she tried not to notice her lover’s eyes were just as dark and his mouth just as cynical. “Sophia, this is Aetos Zenos.” He tugged her into the place right between his arm and his body. The place she felt as if she completed. The place from where she could so easily stab him straight through his heart. “Aetos, this is Sophia, my fiancée.” He’d switched back to her full name. She knew what that was. He was pulling back from her, pulling away from her unspoken anger and unexpressed worries for his future. The wall between them came at her, impossible to climb, impenetrable to cut through. “A pleasure.” The man reached over with a polished, smooth move, his Armani coat sleek and silky, his manner a combination of charm and glamor. He took her hand in his and looked straight at her. “Stravoudas has found a treasure.” Yes. He had. But he was about to lose it. Because what she saw in this man’s eyes was enough to have her courage soar back into the stratosphere. The man’s eyes were dead. And deadly. She was not going to let her Alex become like this man. Not if it was the last thing she did in her life. “Aetos buys buildings.” Henry boomed into the conversation.

“Does he?” She showed the man her teeth. Zenos arched a gold-tinged brow and stepped back. “Nice to meet you, Sophia.” He left. He might be a dead man walking, but he was smart. At his departure, her anger dissipated, replaced with regret. She couldn’t protect Alex from predators like Zenos forever. Even when she’d done her dastardly deed tonight, he could simply pick himself up and find another doting woman to hang on his arm. He could surely figure out a way to get another thousand architectural contracts worth millions and still build his enormous, ugly dick buildings across the entire world. She peered at him and confronted the bland blueness he’d used when they first met. She wanted to find her biggest rolling pin and bang him on the top of his head, but what good would it do? Perhaps she should stay quiet and hope for the best. “Sophie!” Henry boomed again from the other side of Alex. “Your timing is impeccable. You’re here with your fiancé just in time for the countdown.” A numbness, a cotton-ball stupor, fell over her. She cut the frustrating contact with Alex’s gaze and stared at his red power tie instead. Could she do it? Could she blow them both up? Would it end up saving him after all? “Ten!” The crowd roared the number out. Laughter and the clinking of glasses competed with tiny horns and thrilled chatter. “Nine!”

“Come here.” His arm, warm and strong, came around her shoulders. He fit her right into his side, his heat and scent swirling around her. “Eight!” Henry said something to Alex, yet Sophie didn’t understand, couldn’t take it in. The only thing she could take in was this could be the last time she’d be here by his side, in the place she was meant to be. The solid knowledge of this realization sank into her being like a lead weight. “Seven!” He probably wouldn’t forgive her this time. This time she wasn’t only blowing up an engagement, she was blowing up his entire career. A career he held onto with a desperate grip that involved his father, but how? She still hadn’t figured that out and now, likely never would. “Six!” “Smile, Sophie.” Henry’s grin was wide and happy. “A new year is about to be born.” She didn’t glance at Alex’s face. Either he’d be frowning at her disobedience or have that fake smile on she’d come to despise. Instead, she stuck her nose into his chest and closed her eyes. She had seconds. So she’d take those seconds. “Five!” Her courage slipped as she took in Alex. Took in the way his muscles tightened under her cheek. Took in the smell of him, rich and elegant. Took in the way she fit into his side, like one flesh.

“Four!” A well of tears threatened to wet his shirt. She sniffed it back. Only a few more seconds and she’d lose this, him. Her heart cracked into tiny little pieces. “Three!” His hand tightened on her arm as if he sensed the struggle inside her. And the thought of these hands—these bruising, ugly hands she now saw as beautiful—stopped her sliding courage. Because these hands made magic, created love when they did what they were supposed to do. These hands needed to be free to design what he was born to imagine and not what he had to do to protect his reputation. “Two!” Sophie straightened in his arms and forced herself to look into his face. His eyes were filled with ugliness and torment. So much so that the blue appeared fogged into bitter black. “Alex,” she whispered. “I love you.” “One! Happy New Year!” Her words were drowned out by the roar of the crowd. Horns blasted, a cheer rose, and the couples around them fell into each other’s arms with hugs and kisses. “We need to kiss.” His lips twisted in a wry grimace. “Even though you’re mad at me.” “I’m not mad at you.” She put her hand on his heart, asking it silently to forgive her. “But you will—”

Dipping down, he caught her words with his mouth. A flutter of hope beat inside her as she took him into her. He sucked her lips as if he’d gone without water for weeks. His tongue stroked the inside of her mouth as if he’d dreamed of kissing her for days. And the way his arms encircled her, pulling her into his body made her feel like he’d missed her as much as she’d missed him. She’d lose all this. In a few short seconds. Her courage, her knowing this was the right thing to do, withered inside. “Sophie.” He leaned back, ending the kiss, yet keeping her tight in his arms. “I know you don’t understand,” he murmured into her ear, brushing the sounds of the crowd aside. “But I have to build this skyscraper.” His voice, the voice she’d come to know well in every one of its variations, shot right through her like a steel sword. Her courage reared forward, ready to do battle. For him. Because his voice was raw and weary. An edge of fear, of desperation, curled on the end of each word, as if he begged her to save him. So she would. Perhaps this explosion wouldn’t save him forever, but at least she’d buy him some time. Time he might use to figure out who he really was. Time to find his soul and embrace it. Time to realize he only had to be himself, not someone straining to fulfill everyone else’s image of who he was. She placed a kiss right in the center of his chest and then straightened from his grasp.

“Sophie?” His arms dropped to his sides. Looking down, she slipped his ring, the big, clunky thing that now was so dear to her, off her finger. “Sophia?” His voice went hard, implacable. But she knew the inside of him. She knew. “I’m breaking up with you.” She met his gaze and held out the ring. The crowd around them, in the inevitable way of humans sensing a train wreck or a car crash, stilled and went quiet. “You promised.” His eyes retained the ugly, although the hot fire of anger now bubbled in the center. The ugly pushed her forward. “I’m breaking my promise.” Grabbing his hand, wanting this to be done, she placed the ring in his palm. “This is going to ruin the deal with the emir,” Henry exclaimed at Alex’s side. “We’ll have to postpone the public—” “Shut up, Henry,” his partner snarled, his heated gaze never leaving Sophie. “That’s not what’s important right now.” The crowd murmured around them. “Correct.” She never let her focus waver from Alex. “Maybe you’ll finally figure that out once and for all.” A shiver went through her because she saw in his blue eyes what she’d never wanted to see again. Hate. Pure hate.

The hair on the back of her neck told her to beware. “You’re doing it again.” His mouth, the wide mouth that had given her so much pleasure and so much pain, went from tight to a sneer. His lean body changed, too, going from taut and tense to the easy, languid pose he showed the world when he wanted to pretend everything was fine, everything was perfect. “Making all the decisions for everyone, right, Sophia?” The accusation cut right to the bone. She’d known he’d attack and she’d been prepared for it, but the words still hurt and crushed. For a moment, her confidence, along with her courage, teetered. “You’re wrong this time.” He kept coming at her, just as she’d known he would. The man would fight until the end for this stupid farce of a life he didn’t belong in. “You’re all wrong.” She was all right, completely right for him. For the man who laughed on his horse and wore ragged jeans and drew beautiful, simple designs. She was all wrong for this man standing before her. For the Perfect Man with his need to dominate, his desire to destroy his very soul. “You’re right.” She tucked her hands under her arms and took in a deep breath. “I’m all wrong. For you.” The crowd around them muttered and questioned. Was this only an argument? Was this just a lovers’ spat? But Alex knew better. She saw it in the line of his tight jaw and the hate in his eyes. “Why, Sophia? Why?”

“Pour l’amour de l’amour.” she said simply. “For love’s sake.”


Chapter Twenty-Four

It was a very good thing Sophia Charlotte Feuer always took the first week of January off. Because if she’d been obliged to drag her sorry body and broken heart to the bakery in the state she’d been during the last few days… She’d have preempted any action by Alex to shut her down by accomplishing it herself. She’d have thrown salt into the mixer instead of sugar or baked her fruit tarts with spoiled strawberries. So it was a good thing she’d been sitting in her lonely apartment surrounded by tissues and chocolate and liquor. None of which seemed to have done the trick of brightening her outlook on life. Because every day, like a fool, she checked the internet. Finding story after story about her ex-fake-fiancé. The Perfect Man Gets Dropped Again! Perfect Couple No. 2 No More! Top Chef Splits With Alexander The Great!

Those headlines were bad enough. They hurt her heart, but not her brain because she realized, after a long week of introspection, that the Alex she knew wasn’t what she wanted even if he came on bended knee. No, the man was confused in his head and heart. She deserved the best of a man, not the worst of two competing souls in one body. This didn’t mean the tears hadn’t fallen. They had. They’d been tears of disillusionment and disappointment, though. Alex Stravoudas had decided to stifle himself in a suit of perfect armor—armor that prevented him from becoming who he really was. The man she’d fallen in love with. She cried. For a week. And stupidly kept reading the internet. The headlines that hurt her heart and her brain were the ones coming from the financial sector. Stravoudas and Kluge, Inc. Lose a Mid-East Deal IPO for Architectural Firm Delayed Indefinitely - Finances Rumored to be Tight Firm Partnership Might Shatter Over Direction of Company Granted, she’d hoped the deal with the nasty emir and his nastier son would fall apart. She’d admit that. Still, she hadn’t wanted to ruin Alex completely. She didn’t want his company to go under or his friendship with Henry to come apart. What had she done? Plucking another tissue out of the box, Sophie pressed it on her eyes. Far worse than any of the tabloid or financial headlines were the ones that had come during the last few days.

Stravoudas Disappears in the Midst of Crisis The Perfect Man Makes a Perfect Getaway Partner, Kluge, Left Holding the Bag It wasn’t like Alex to walk away from a fight. She’d expected him to launch a fierce battle to keep the deal and become a fiery landlord threatening to throw her out. Instead, she, and everyone else apparently, had been met with silence. A cold, hard silence. The silence scared her. Squawk! Squawk! She dropped the tissue-filled hand to the cushion and looked at her cell phone. Squawk! Squawk! Her mother. For the hundred and thirtieth time in the last seven days. Of course, the news had spread to Florida via Aunt Eileen’s subscriptions to every New York tabloid that existed. Of course. Sophie tried to ignore the call as she’d ignored every other one. She had left soothing voice messages in the middle of the night when she knew her parents would be asleep. She didn’t want her mom and dad to get so agitated they’d take the next flight to New York. Right now, talking to her emotional mother on the phone would only make her cry harder. The thought of talking to her mother in person would drive her into a deeper depression. She should answer the phone.

On the other hand, she could always leave another soothing message later tonight. Squawk! Squawk! The call finally, mercifully, went to voice mail. She didn’t have to reach over and listen. She’d only hear the same thing. What happened? He was perfect for you! You would have had such lovely children. She thumped her head back on the sofa. Her mother had wanted grandchildren since the moment Sophie had graduated from college. The topic had been an ongoing thread in every conversation she’d had with her mother during the last seven years. She hadn’t wanted kids, she’d wanted her bakery. Kids were something for the future—the far-off future. The thread, and her mother, had irritated her to the point of madness. But this time, this one time, the yearning in her mom’s voice had made the tears well in her eyes instead of the red heat of aggravation. Alex’s children. She could see them even now. Their lean, lithe bodies dancing in the Greek snow. Their wide mouths filled with her baking. Their bright, blue eyes peering at her as she read them stories by the fire. The blond mops of curls nestled in their pillows. She needed another tissue. A thundering bang, bang, bang came from her front door. “Sophie?” Mel’s voice rang with threat. “Open this door.” “Come on, girlfriend,” Jade cried. “Time to face the music.”

Sam’s voice joined the fray. “We’ve called a MUST meet which means you must be a part of it.” She’d successfully put them off for an entire week. She’d pleaded for time alone and time to think and time to heal. She’d said she was fine with everything and only needed some rest. Clearly, her friends’ patience had come to an end. “We know you’re in there,” Jade’s voice escalated up a notch. “We quizzed your neighbors.” Sophie snorted. She had exactly one nosy neighbor who would open the door to strangers—Mr. Elgin, who lived across the hall and could be forced to tell all with a simple box of cookies. “Come on, Soph.” Sam’s voice drifted through the door. “We need to see you and know you’re okay.” Dragging herself off the sofa, she shuffled to the front door. She figured she looked like crap; her hair in a straggly, sloppy ponytail, her old flannel nightgown stained with the chocolate ice cream she’d just eaten, her eyes and nose red from her stupid weeping. But these were her friends and friends would accept her, warts and all. Like Alex. The thought zipped right from her head to her heart and made her stumble to a halt. She knew, right at the center of her heart. If he stood in front of her at this moment, he’d tease, he’d push her into the shower, and he’d find a way to make her mad

instead of sad. After all was said and done, though, he’d accept her as she was however she wanted to be. But she hadn’t done the same for him, had she? A deep, dark pit opened in the center of her heart. “I’m going to break this door down if you don’t open it in five seconds.” Jade’s menacing tone made her legs move. “You look like hell,” Mel said as she glided into the messy apartment. “This place looks like hell.” Jade marched in behind. “Soph?” Sam stopped in front of her and grabbed her arms. “You okay?” “No.” The word ended in a wail and the tears fell once more. This time, they were ones of confusion and dismay. Had she done the right thing? Or had she done precisely the wrong thing when Alex needed her? Had she judged him instead of loving him? “It’s okay.” Samantha wrapped her arms around her and rocked. “I’ve brought your favorite,” Jade crooned at her side. “Rice and beans will make you feel better right away.” “You need a shower,” Mel observed. “That will make you feel better.” Sophie found herself stuffed into her bathroom and by the time she got out of the shower, she did feel slightly better. A big bowl of Jade’s famous rice and beans made her feel marginally human again. Now she only wanted to climb into her bed and sleep for a thousand years. “You start work tomorrow, right?” Sam chirped from her perch on the sofa.

Laying her head on the kitchen table, she closed her eyes. “I don’t think I can go in.” “Don’t speak nonsense.” Jade hustled over from the stove and slapped the top of her head. “That bakery is at the center of your heart.” “Not anymore, huh?” Mel’s hand came to rest on her shoulder and squeezed. “Alex is.” “The man didn’t know how lucky he was,” Jade stated. “He doesn’t deserve our girl.” “But he wasn’t the one who broke the engagement,” Sam pointed out. “The relationship was fake.” Sophie raised her head and forced herself to meet her friends’ wide eyes. “It was a contract.” “What?” “I don’t get it.” “That doesn’t make sense.” She made them see sense. There was no reason to keep any of this mess a secret any longer. Alex was eventually going to come around and kill her business—what did it matter if her friends knew the real story? What more could he do to retaliate? “He must have been really mad at you, Soph.” Sam stared at her, a contemplative look on her face. “I can’t believe he would act that way,” Mel chimed in, her expression one of amazement. “He’s not that kind of guy.”

“Mr. Charming has a bad temper.” Jade’s dark gaze sparkled with interest. “Who knew?” “He’s not what he appears. All that perfection is a façade.” Her three friends eyed her with speculation. “He’s stuck in…” “Yeah?” “What?” “And?” “He’s just stuck.” Sophie abandoned any attempt to explain. They wouldn’t understand. Alex, himself, didn’t understand. Why should she expect her friends to? “All I know is I broke the contract and he’s going to find a way to close my bakery.” “I don’t think so.” Mel sat down at the kitchen table and brushed her hand along the edge. “I might not know him as well as you obviously do, but I don’t think he will do that.” “He hasn’t so far.” Jade leaned on the counter, her arms crossed in front of her chest. “If he were going to make a move, you’d have heard something by now.” “I agree.” Samantha slid off the sofa and walked to the table. “I mean, look what he’s done instead. He’s disappeared completely.” She knew where he was with a certainty. And her silly heart yearned to go to Greece and talk with him, make him see what she plainly saw. Yet he’d reject her. He’d reject himself.

“He’s hurting,” Mel said with a decisive snap. “Which means he has feelings for our girlfriend.” “I saw the way he looked at you during the New Year’s party.” Sam’s gaze was piercing. “He loves you.” Sophie gulped. She’d accepted her love but had never gotten to the place where she’d expected his. All her old patterns with men, mixed in with all of Alex’s confusion about himself, had led her to stand back and not move forward. “Even if he does, it doesn’t matter.” “Love always matters.” Jade’s voice came sharp and clear. “So what if your relationship started with a stupid contract. Somewhere along the way, girlfriend, you both fell in love.” “I didn’t say—” “Come on.” “You can’t fool us.” “Sophie, get a grip.” She sighed. “Okay, okay. I do love him and that’s why I split with him. He would have been miserable doing that dick skyscraper.” “Fine.” Mel stood and glared down at her. “You accomplished what you set out to do. His deal is in shambles. Still, that doesn’t mean this relationship is over.” “Nope, it sure doesn’t,” Jade slotted in. “You love him. He loves you.” Sam slanted closer, her expression filled with hope. “That’s more important than anything else.”

“What are you going to do about it?” The usually mild-mannered Mel looked like a sputtering spitfire. Sophie’s hands tightened in her lap. During this entire week, she’d wallowed in self-pity and righteous dignity. She’d thought of herself as some weepy heroine who’d sacrificed herself on the altar of love. But now, now she wavered. Maybe she’d done this completely wrong. Perhaps she should have stuck with Alex and believed in him enough to let him make his own decisions. Possibly, she needed to rethink everything. “This isn’t like you, Soph.” Mel continued her relentless grind. “Do something.” *** “Nothing in the newspapers about Mr. Perfect.” Jorge huffed, the steel chair scraping on the cement floor as he bent down to grab another tabloid. “Can’t think where he’s gone.” Sophie slid a pan of cappuccino shortbread out of the oven. She didn’t respond because she had nothing to say about Alex or the situation. The something she needed to do had eluded her for three straight days. Rather than continuing to drive herself crazy at home, she’d tromped to her bakery and let Jorge and her assistants drive her crazy instead. “But he’s so hot,” Megan had wailed. “And he’s so rich,” Tamika had moaned. “I knew he was no good from the moment I saw him,” Jorge had pitched in.

Then they’d all argued about the perfections, possibilities, wants and warts of Alexander the Great for hours on end until Sophie threatened to pour buttermilk over them. Her assistants had taken the hint and left for the day. Jorge was made of sterner stuff. “I bet he’s gone down to Mexico.” He rustled the papers, plainly not at all worried about a rainfall of buttermilk. “That’s where everyone goes when they are hiding from the law.” She snorted. “Ah.” The old man’s twinkling eyes appeared above the top of the newspaper. “Finally, I get a response from you on the topic of Mr. Perfect.” “He’s not perfect.” Leaning down, she sliced the bread into triangles. Focusing on her work didn’t always keep thoughts of him from drifting into her head, yet she’d found that the baking helped her, eased the turmoil inside. She’d been working Christmas hours during the last three days. “Nope, he’s not.” The newspaper rustled again. “My bet is he’s got something to hide.” Alex was certainly hiding, not only physically, but emotionally. Up to this point, she couldn’t figure out if she should do something about it or not. This isn’t like you, Soph. Do something. Mel’s words rang in her head for the thousandth time like an irritating, clanging buzzer. A buzzer that became louder and louder and louder.

She slapped the knife onto the steel table. “Whoa, girl.” Jorge peered around the newspaper. “You okay?” No, she was not okay. Neither was Alex. She’d tried to stay convinced that her actions on New Year’s were correct. But doubt had drizzled into her brain and now drummed in her heart. Perhaps the something she needed to do was reverse what she’d done. The doorbell chimed in its low tones. “Who the hell is that?” Jorge scowled at the door in immediate offense. “It’s a damn good thing you’re not here alone.” Her little, beaten-down heart lurched into a furious clatter. Maybe she wouldn’t have to do anything. Maybe Alex would be the one who did…something. “Who could it be?” The old man grunted as he plied himself off the chair. “It’s nearly six p.m.” “And you have deliveries to make.” She wiped her hands with a towel and pushed herself toward the door. Her heart quaked and her knees shook, but not answering the door was out of the question. She’d never been a quitter and she’d never been afraid to confront. “Those desserts are boxed and ready to go.” “I’m not going anywhere until I see who’s at the door,” Jorge grumbled. The question of the hour, the day, the week. Who was at the door? “Henry.” Her little heart sank back into dejection and her knees stopped quaking. “This is a surprise.”

Alex’s partner looked awful and her heart sank further with a load of guilt piled on top of it. Henry had been the one who’d had to deal with the fallout from her betrayal. Well, all the financial fallout. She wondered if Alex suffered from any emotional fallout. Perhaps not. Because he wasn’t here. Henry was. Had Alex sent Henry? Her heart pitter-pattered even as she told it to stop dreaming. “Sophie.” There were dark circles under his hazel eyes and his tie lay askew on his shirt. “I need to talk to you. I need to find my partner.” All right. Clearly, Alex hadn’t sent him. The pitter-patter petered out in a sad, slow whine. “Who are you?” Her self-styled protector rumbled to her side and hunched his shoulders in an aggressive stance. “Jorge.” Turning toward him, she forced a smile. “This is a friend of Alex’s and you need to get going.” The old man humphed. “Come on.” Taking his gnarled hand in hers, she tugged him to the steel racks lining the back wall. “Here are the two boxes I need delivered.” “Soph.” His whisper came low. “If this guy is the Perfect Man’s friend, he might be here to yell at you for breaking it off.” She straightened her spine and glanced over her shoulder. Henry was slumped in the doorway, his face downcast, his eyes blurry. “I don’t think he’s here to yell.”

“Maybe not, but you’re hurting already. I don’t want to take the chance he’ll hurt you even more.” “Henry isn’t here to hurt me.” Her conviction rose. “I think he’s here because he’s hurting.” Jorge glanced at the man. Whatever he saw seemed to reassure him. “You’re probably right. Alexander the Great has a lot to answer for.” His flannel-covered arm came around her in a tight squeeze. “I can find him in Mexico and pulverize him if you want me to.” A clogged laugh escaped. “He’s not in Mexico.” Bushy eyebrows rose. “No? So you know where he is?” “Yeah, I’m pretty sure.” Patting his burly chest, she gave him another firm smile. “Now get going. I need to talk with Henry.” The old man grumbled and groused but finally left with a defiant slam of the outside door. Sophie ran her hands down her apron, wondering where to start. “I’m sorry for all the troubles with the emir and the IPO.” Henry lurched away from the wall he’d moved to when Jorge had lumbered toward the door. His face creased with frustration. “That’s not why I’m here. I don’t care about the emir or the IPO.” Surprise flickered through her. “You don’t?” “I do. I’ll admit, I do.” Grimacing, he walked to her and grabbed her hand. “But not as much as I care about my friend.”

She’d alternately liked Henry and was irritated with him throughout these last few months. Now his words filled her with warmth, and silently she forgave him for not listening to her when he should have. “I appreciate that.” “And our company.” The warmth dissipated. Pulling her hand out of his, she gave him a stony look. “This isn’t like him.” Not sensing the change in her mood, Henry paced away, rubbing his hair into disarray. “I can’t understand it. We’ve always told each other everything.” It wasn’t her place to explain. Alex hadn’t stopped her when she’d left his penthouse on New Year’s Eve. He hadn’t charmed or cajoled her to change her mind. The connection between them was real, she knew this, yet he had made a choice that night too. A choice that didn’t include her. Which meant she didn’t have the right to speak for him. “I don’t know what to say.” She twisted her hands in front of her, noticing the absence of Alex’s ring for the thousandth time. “You’ll have to talk to him.” “That’s just it.” He twirled to gaze at her with frustration. “I don’t know where he is.” Something must have flashed in her eyes because he went taut. “You know,” he cried, striding to her side. “Tell me.”

Stumbling back, she leaned on the steel table. Her heart hurt for this man because she saw the pain in his eyes. He was still thinking about the company, though, more than he was thinking about his friend. Plus, she couldn’t and wouldn’t betray Alex again. “I can’t.” “Sophie.” Henry gripped her arms in his hands. “You don’t understand.” “I could say the same to you.” “Okay. I admit it.” His hands tightened as he made his confession. “I didn’t listen to you and you felt like you had to do something drastic.” “That’s one way of putting it.” But it wouldn’t have been the way she’d have stated it. Not then and not now. Except…except…Perhaps Henry was correct. Could her motivation have been get everyone’s attention because she thought she was right and no one listened? Maybe she hadn’t done it strictly for love. Her little, beaten-down heart thumped. “Sophie.” His eyes blazed. “There are people who are going to be hurt if I don’t find my partner. We have fifty-five employees who are in danger of losing their jobs.” A series of faces flashed through her mind. Jamal laughing, Carly chattering, even Alex’s stiff and proper PA, Christine, smiling at her. The burr, the burr she’d acquired in Paris, returned to sit like a lump in the middle of her throat. “I didn’t think—” “No.” His voice went fierce. “You didn’t and Alex didn’t. I don’t hold you at fault for that. They aren’t your employees. Yet I do hold Alex to his responsibility.”

Sophie thought of Tamika and Megan and Jorge. She hadn’t given them a moment of thought when she’d put her bakery in danger. Guilt slugged right into the pit of her stomach. “If you won’t tell me where he is, then you need to go and get him.” Looking into Henry’s determined eyes, she tried a last-ditch stand. “He won’t want to see me.” “Yes, he will.” He took her hands in his and gripped them hard. “And if he doesn’t want to do the emir’s building, I’ll listen.” “Perhaps you can supervise this project instead.” A flutter of hope sprang inside. She needed to resolve this somehow. She had to make this all come together so no one was hurt. “Conceivably.” Something flashed in his eyes, but the determination never left. “However, I need my partner here to figure this out.” Indecision mixed with fear. She could imagine herself walking into the big house and greeting a wary Nella. She could imagine walking down to the hut and finding it empty. And she could imagine the angry man she’d find in the hot pool. “He loves you.” Henry hit right into the center of her dilemma. “He’ll listen to you.” Did he? Would he? “You need to do something, Sophie. Right now.”


Chapter Twenty-Five

Weariness made her bones ache. After Henry had left, she’d done half of the morning baking because she’d known going home to her cozy apartment would only make her stark, raving mad. Working until she was so tired she could barely stand had been the goal. A goal she’d achieved. Now the only thing she wanted to do was find her bed and fall into it. Reaching the top of the stairs to her building’s second floor, she sighed with relief. Soon. The bed. “Sophie!” Ceci’s cry rang down the hallway. “Where have you been?” Stopping cold, she raised her head to face four sets of blazing blue eyes and one set of determined black. “What?” Her throat constricted in immediate fear. “What are you doing here? Has something happened to Alex?” “You happened to Alex.” Ceci’s wide mouth twisted in a wry grimace.

“We’ve been here since six p.m.,” one of his other sisters announced, all offended dignity. “Sophia.” His maman glided over and took her hand. “My son is not in a hospital or hurt physically, at least as far as we know.” A whoosh of relieved air burst from her mouth. “Oh, thank God.” “You care for him.” Abelle Wattier Stravoudas’s keen gaze caught hers. “You love him.” Now that she knew he was okay, she didn’t want to talk about him. Or think about him. Or confess any feelings about him. “That doesn’t matter.” “It matters.” Pulling away from his mother while ignoring her words, Sophie made for her front door and escape. “Your mother said you never baked past six.” Abelle’s stated with a snap. “My mother?” She twirled around in horror. “You talked to my mother?” “Yes, yes, certainly.” His maman tapped her long nails on her arm. “This is a crisis. Of course, I talked to your mother.” “Of course.” Sarcasm ripened both words. Sophie brushed a hand across her aching forehead. She couldn’t handle this right now, whatever this was. “It’s nine o’clock and I have to be at work tomorrow at four. I’m tired.” “We’ll take only a moment of your time.” One of the other sisters said with a forceful voice. “Even if your friendly neighbor did come out and offer us some cookies and a place to sit, we’ve waited this long. You owe us.”

Behind the fatigue, a bubbling fury surged. She didn’t owe them anything. In fact, if anyone owed anyone anything, these ladies owed their perfect son and brother an apology. Yet she didn’t want to fight with this cadre of Stravoudas females. She wanted them to go away. Plainly, though, they weren’t going to oblige her until she let them have their say. “Fine. Whatever.” Marching through their midst, she unlocked her front door and threw it open. “Come on in.” “This is enchanting.” Alex’s maman sailed in, her offspring following behind. “You’ve done quite a lot with such a small space.” “I don’t have time to talk about interior design.” Shrugging off her coat, she slung it across the couch. “Tell me why you’re here.” Ceci closed the front door behind her and leaned against it, as if they all planned on being here for a while. “We’re here to discuss you and Alex.” The bubbling fury started to boil. “I split with him. That’s the end of the story.” “Ma chère.” Abelle perched on a chair, her elegant chignon gleaming in the light. “This is only the beginning.” “We have to find out where he is,” one of the other sisters said. “Then we can figure out how to get you back together.” “I don’t want to get back together.” The words echoed in her heart sending shockwaves of pain through her body. Still, the words were sincere. She didn’t want to get back together with Mr. Perfect and that’s what Alex really wanted to be.

Her announcement was met with astonished looks and a smattering of coughs. “Of course you do,” one of the other sisters said at last. “Of course, I don’t.” Wrapping her arms around her waist, she dug in. “And if that’s what you’ve come to say, you can leave now.” “Why are you being hostile?” Ceci gave her a look of concern. “We’re all in this together.” “No, we’re not.” Fatigue bit along the edges of her control, her control over the fury. She didn’t want to fight with these women. They loved Alex, the perfect Alex, and who was she to say it was wrong? But it was wrong. It was. “Sophia.” His mother leaned forward. “Do you know where my son has gone?” The surprise came again. That she was the only one who knew of his hideout. Something like pride or stupid pleasure coursed through her. “Yes. I think so.” “Then you must go to him,” Abelle said with a decisive sweep of her hand. “You must beg his forgiveness.” “What?” The fury roared out of the leash. “Are you crazy?” His mother straightened her spine. “Non.” “I broke up with him.” She stuck out one finger. “I don’t want to be with him.” A second finger. “He doesn’t deserve me. Not the way he is right now.” A third and final finger reared into the air. “He’s perfect for you—”

“What do you mean?” Ceci cut into her sister’s objection. “Not the way he is right now.” “He tries to be perfect. All the time.” She let everything she’d thought about and concluded tumble out. “He can’t be. You can’t make him be.” Silence fell in the room and the only sound she heard was her loud breathing. His mother frowned, ruining the smoothness of her forehead. His sisters all gaped at her, ruining their blonde beauty. Except for Ceci. “Keep going.” She shouldn’t. This wasn’t her business. And perhaps she had this family situation completely wrong. Yet something deep inside, maybe even the something Mel and Henry and called for, kept her mouth going. “He does too much for every one of you. He can’t be everything to everybody.” The silence deepened. “I don’t understand,” his mother finally whispered. Sophie’s hands fisted at her side. She shouldn’t. She shouldn’t dive into the middle of this family’s issues. She could hear Alex in her head… Making all the decisions for everyone, right, Sophia? “He feels like he can’t say no,” she blurted. “He can’t say no when you call him about the leak in your roof or the other repairs on your house.” Abelle’s face blanched. “I only thought to get his advice—” “He can’t say no to going to a niece’s recital or a nephew’s ballgame.” One of the blonde beauties stiffened. “I only ask because I think he might enjoy—”

“Ceci.” Sophie turned to stare at the short woman. “He isn’t your dad.” “I know.” Dark eyes filmed with the hint of tears. “But I make him feel like it, don’t I?” Squawk! Squawk! Her phone. Something to stop her mouth from continuing to blow things up. She reached into her purse and looked at the screen. Her mother. Dammit. Why couldn’t it be Tamika or Megan calling in sick? Or perhaps Jorge saying he’d delivered the desserts? She’d have even taken Mel and Henry harping on her to do something. Instead, her lifeline was her mother. “I need you to leave,” she stated to the silent room. “I need to take this call.” Squawk! Squawk! Abelle rose in queenly grace. “We have some things to think about.” “I guess we do.” “Perhaps so.” “I never thought—” “We’ll leave, Sophie.” Ceci opened the front door. “But I trust you to take care of my brother.” The burden sagged on her shoulders and frustration swirled around her fury. “I don’t know—”

“You’ll figure out something.” His youngest sister closed the door behind her mother and sisters and herself. She didn’t have to answer the phone now, but why not confront everyone all at once and get it over with? “Mom.” “Finally.” Margaret Feuer’s voice crackled with irritation. “I had begun to think I had a mirage for a daughter.” “I’ve been busy.” “This isn’t the Christmas season. You can’t fool me.” The piercing whistle of a teapot cut through her words for a moment. “I’ve been talking to Alex’s mother.” “So I’ve heard.” Wearily, she let herself sag onto the couch. “She was just here.” “Good. I hope she talked some sense into you.” “I didn’t give her a chance.” She got a huff of displeasure in response. “In that case, I’m going to put your father on.” “Mom—” “Maybe he can make you realize Alex Stravoudas was the perfect man to walk into your life.” “Mom—” “I can’t understand why you split with him, yet you must have had your reasons.” “Mom—”

“But none of those reasons stand against the most important point. Alex and you are meant to be together.” “Mom—” “Here’s your father.” “Crud,” Sophie muttered. Ready for another lecture, she slumped farther down, lying her head on the shoulder of the sofa. “Sophie?” “Yeah, Dad. I’m here.” “What’s going on, Princess?” Erich Feuer’s voice was filled with comfort and consolation in comparison to her mother’s annoyed tone. The contrast made tears well in her eyes. Again. Dammit, she was not a watering pot. “I split with Alex.” “Yes, I heard.” Now her father’s voice turned wry. “I’ve heard about nothing else for several days.” “Sorry, Dad.” “Don’t be sorry. You must have had your reasons.” The confidence he had in her never wavered. Not when she had announced she wanted her own bakery, not his. Not when she’d said she wanted to bake pastries, not bread. Not when she’d stated she didn’t plan on marrying and having children for years. “Sophie?” “Yeah.” Swallowing tears, she tried to sound upbeat. “I’m here.”

“Tell me, Princess.” She heard a door close. “Your mother’s gone off to bed and now we can have one of our chats.” Their chats had started when Sophie was barely five. Chats as she sat in her bed before sleeping. Chats at the bakery as she observed him rolling out the bread. Chats when she came home from college and relaxed with him on the doorstep watching New York City go by. “I don’t think I can chat at this moment,” she whispered, more tears choking her. “Sure you can, Sophie. You can do anything.” The words and confidence in her father’s voice blended and blurred into Alex’s. The mix sent her over. The tears came, hard and long. Her dad said nothing, only occasionally murmuring a warm word of consolation. Wiping her eyes with the ever-convenient tissues on the side table, she managed to finally pull herself together. “Princess?” “I’m s-sorry, Daddy.” “Tell me the story of all this.” She could almost feel her dad’s arm around her, reassuring her, trying to understand. “Go on. Then we’ll figure this out.” She told him. Of her involvement with Mel’s breakup. Of Alex’s threat. Of her three promises. And last, of her love. “What he did was wrong, I agree.” Her dad sounded sad and yet, there was something deeper in his voice. A resolute decision that made her heart sink. “But you were wrong too, Princess.”

Her dad never wavered in his love, and he also never wavered in doing what was right. “You promised, Sophia. And you always need to keep your promises.”


Chapter Twenty-Six

Alex leaned on the fence, watching Arion and Vouk race each other across the snow-covered field. Their tails and manes flew in the wind, their powerful muscles flexing, the hooves flying. Free. He leaned in farther and his head dropped until all he saw were his clasped hands. Hands that had designed hundreds of buildings. Hands that had always known the line to draw, the angle to frame. Hands he’d depended on to get him to where he’d decided to go at the age of seventeen. The knuckles on his hands turned white. He jerked himself straight. Without looking at the horses again, he turned and paced to his hut. But in the last two weeks, unlike every other time he’d come here, he had found no solace or hope or courage. This time, his hideout hadn’t refreshed his spirit and certainly hadn’t reinforced his purpose. This time, he’d found only a hollow, empty pit inside.

Throwing open the wood door and then slamming it shut behind him, he flung himself onto the sofa. The fireplace was cold; he hadn’t had the energy to start the flames this morning or even after his half-eaten noon meal. He stared into the dark depth of the grate. A blast of anger had burned in him for a few days after the New Year’s Eve fiasco. He’d waved off Henry’s concern that night and left his penthouse to the partying crowd. Holing up in a hotel for the evening and the following day, he’d ignored the calls from his maman and sisters and friends and the press and focused on the one dominant emotion overwhelming all others. Fury. Fury at his firecracker. She’d done it again. Blown everything around him up. Without asking him or consulting him or even giving him an inkling of what she intended to do. A friend would have asked. A lover would have warned. Alex lurched off the sofa and strode to his work table. Since arriving, he hadn’t touched anything lying here. Not the pile of scales or the rolls of tracing paper. Not the stack of finished designs. Not even the elegant Frank Lloyd Wright pen set his father had given him on his sixteenth birthday. It would have felt like betrayal to his father. He sagged down onto the drafting chair.

The fury had driven him here because if he’d stayed in New York he would have called his contact on the zoning board and blown Sophie’s bakery to high heaven. He was her friend even if she wasn’t his. He was her lover even if she’d rejected him. So he’d come to Greece. Yet he’d realized, before even stepping through the door, there would be no peace for him here. There was no peace for him anywhere. Not anymore. Restless, he shifted in the chair, pulling a stack of drawings in front of him. His finger ran over the waving arch of a roof, then across the line of steel dividing the home from the pool. I saw your sketches. His gut twisted. They are amazing, Alex. His heart hurt. Those homes are what you should be building. His head felt like it was going to explode. Rolling out of the chair, he marched to the fireplace and stared at his father’s photograph. He’d promised. He’d promised. His throat tightened. Sophie should have trusted him to figure out what to do on his own. She should have let him wade through this minefield of old promises and new hopes until he’d come

to his own conclusions. Instead, she’d done more than blow his plans to hell. This time she’d placed a bomb right in the pit of his heart and lit the fuse without batting an eye. The fact she’d made some decisions about him burned, but not as much as the realization she had willingly betrayed him and then, walked away. Betrayed him. And then walked away. He hadn’t thought she’d ever walk away. Knowing women, he’d known. Known what he saw in those cocoa eyes. Known by the way she moved into his arms and smiled into his face and took him into her body. He’d known. She loved him. Yet, she’d walked away. His fist landed on the edge of the mantel with a hard smack. Was it too much to expect that the woman who loved you would stand by your side? A woman in love should be right here, right now, helping him keep his promises. Taking in a breath, he placed his forehead on the mantel, right by his father’s picture. No, no. He didn’t want Sophie and her love here. She’d quiz him and talk to him and make him doubt his past decisions. Until he figured everything out himself, he needed to stay away from her. A sharp rap came from the door. Nella. With more food he didn’t want to eat.

“Come in,” he called, weariness sifting through his body. The door flew open with a slam. Yanking his head around, he froze. “Sophie.” No other female stood in just this way—in a jaunty, brash stance that hurt to look at because he loved it so much. No other female had a shape that shot his lust into the stratosphere with one glance. He didn’t want to lust. He didn’t want to hurt. And he absolutely did not want Sophia Feuer here. How was he supposed to figure out his life while she was around? Mixing him up, blowing him up, making everything impossible. “Why the hell are you here?” She didn’t even flinch. In her usual bulldozing way, she marched into the center of the room with her all-knowing confidence. His temper exploded. “Go away.” “I’m here.” Her chin shot forward. “To fix everything.” His jaw clenched. “I want you to leave.” “Not until I tell you what I’ve done.” God help him. She’d done more? More messes for his heart and head to deal with? “You’ve done plenty already, Sophia.” Her bow mouth drooped for a moment. But in her usual way, she shook off any indecision and barged forward. “I admit, I did this all wrong.” Alex breathed in a harsh, hot breath, trying to keep himself still until she’d marched back out the door. If he moved, he might crush her round, little body in his big

hands. Or grab her and throw her on the sofa and strip her naked and start acting like an animal once more. “This? This, like ruining my career? Or this, destroying my business?” Or this, breaking my heart. He wouldn’t admit that to her. Not here, not now. Maybe never. “I’ve put it all back together.” Straightening her shoulders, she gave him a tentative smile. He sneered. “That’s not possible.” “Anything’s possible.” She crossed her arms in front of her. “I still don’t think you should build that skyscraper, but I made a promise—” “Which you broke.” “True.” A wistful wave of emotion swept her face. “I thought I was doing what was right for you.” “How would you know what’s right for me?” The fury roiled inside, eating into his soul. “Why should you decide?” Her mouth tightened and she nodded her head, sending her ponytail bobbing. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have done what I did, so I put it all back together.” “Huh?” “Henry and I got together and we’ve have everything back on track.” “What?” “I gave an interview to a couple of tabloids and Henry did the same with several financial papers.”

“God damn it.” He couldn’t contain himself or his body anymore. Stomping to her side, he glared into her cocoa eyes. “What did you say now?” His firecracker didn’t back down or step away. Her expression shone with determination. “I told them I merely had a case of nerves and everything between us was fine.” He stumbled away. “You did what?” “Our fake engagement is back on.” Her lips twisted in a wry way, making him notice how she emphasized the word fake. The movement and the emphasis made his temper grow hotter. “After that,” she paced to the fireplace as if she felt the heat of his anger, “Henry talked with the emir and he’s still willing to go forward with the deal.” “Really?” His hands fisted into a tight grip at his side. “Really.” Turning around to face him again, she plastered on a cheerful grin. “Henry says it will be simple to put the IPO back into place, once you return to New York City and sign the papers for the skyscraper.” “My dick skyscraper.” Surprise flitted across her face at his growling words. “Well, I might think it’s not that great, but the emir certainly thinks it’s amazing. And that’s what counts.” “THAT’S NOT WHAT COUNTS.” His cry filled the small hut. She jumped, her eyes growing wide, her mouth gaping open. “Alex—” Jolting around, he strode out the open door, his long legs eating up the Greek ground. Hunger for her rolled inside, along with his love for her. Affection swirled

around delight in her boldness, her belief in the parts of him he’d never confronted and accepted. All of the emotions crashed against the wall of determination he’d built brick by brick in the year after his father’s death. Somehow the lust and the love, the affection for her and her belief in the real Alex, turned and twisted, welding a piercing sword that cut and cut and cut. Through his promises. Through his purpose. Through his confusion. The wall inside him began to crumble. He strode to the edge of the hot pool. Throwing off his clothes, he stared into its depths. The water bubbled and steamed, sending wafts of mist into the air. The entire way to the bottom, the water was a clear, silky brew. Naked, he stepped in. “Alex.” Her voice rang from behind him in a compelling tone. Before he found himself turning around to grab her, before he confessed everything, he sank into the water, letting the heat and moisture wash over him, taking him down and down. He ducked his head under. *** His golden curls lay on the water for a moment, like a strewn stream of coins. Then, as he sank further, they disappeared, one coin at a time. Sophie huffed. He couldn’t stay under indefinitely. At some point, he’d have to emerge from the water and talk. However, she’d probably have more success if she were

in the pool with him, pinning him down and understanding what was going on inside him. Her confidence shook for a moment. Both of them naked meant he could distract her with his perfect moves. He would try it, she knew him. Would it be better if she waited for him in the hut? Before she could decide if retreat was the best move, his head popped out of the water and he swung his long, wet hair over one broad shoulder. The beauty of his maleness caught in her throat and she lost her train of thought for a moment. Then, his blue gaze met hers. A profound silence hummed between them, filled with confusion and desperation, yes. But something more, something far more important. She clung to this realization and risked her heart. “What counts, Alex?” His chest rose as he took in a deep breath, but he never broke their gaze, his eyes growing darker and deeper. The silence grew louder, filled with unspoken needs and desires. Sophie wanted to say everything, give him all. Yet in many ways, she already had. This was his turn, his time. She kept herself still and silent. He chuckled, softly, under his breath. “It’s pretty easy, isn’t it?” “Is it?” “When it comes down to it.” He moved through the water to the edge of the pool, right next to her. Looking up, he caught her gaze again. “You count.”

Her little, beaten-down heart zoomed into the heavens. “You and me count too?” “Yes. Us too.” His big hand gestured to her. “Come in here with me.” Scrambling out of her clothes, she didn’t take one second to think of her big breasts or being naked or how much light there was around them. Because the light shining inside her was so bright, she didn’t have any room for any other emotions or thoughts. She took his hand in hers, his long fingers coming around her own, tugging her into the water and into his side. “Right here.” His lean arms circled her, bringing her close. “This is what counts.” “Yes.” She nestled her head into the arc of his arm and chest. They stood, letting the clear water swirl around them as the moist air brushed across their skin. There’d been many silences between them, yet she thought all those silences had led into this one. This one of pure, complete wholeness. The shine of sunlight glinted through the mist and Alex started to gently sway them both. Their bodies turned slowly, letting the water wash over their hips, letting the air circle around their dance of love. “Sophie,” he finally murmured above her head. Reality returned, not with a smack or a groan, but with a resolute knowledge that whatever came, they’d be together and they’d figure it out together. Leaning back, she looked at him. “Tell me your tragic story.” His wide mouth twisted. “You’re so sure there is one?”

“There’s something.” She placed her hand on his heart. “Something right here that’s wrong.” With a swift surge, he lifted her into his arms and waded through the water to the marble shelf where he sat down. She shifted in his embrace until she rested in the center of his lap, relishing his physical response, yet not wanting to make love until her lover was healed. His eyes were solemn when she met his gaze. “Let’s talk about your dad.” “There’s my firecracker.” A short, sharp laugh erupted from him. “A missile going straight to the heart of the matter.” Oh. Her instincts had been right on the mark. The pain in his voice told her they’d entered the center of his agony. Now she only had to extract the phalanx of swords cutting him inside. “Why is your father still troubling you?” He didn’t answer, his mouth turning grim. “What’s wrong in the heart of you?” She swept her palm over his chest once more. “My heart.” He laughed again and this time the sound was bleak. “What a way to put it.” “A heart that’s mine, right?” She risked all to reach him. A lingering, shivering doubt whispered inside, but it couldn’t defeat her emotional need to find the center of his soul. “Yeah.” The blue of his eyes turned brilliant. “Yours.”

Happy wasn’t the word for what boomed inside her. Happy didn’t cover the joy of finding her mate or the desire she felt as she lay in his arms. Happy didn’t convey the inner conviction she’d found her place or the feeling of boundless freedom they would find together exploring their new world of us. “My heart is yours too.” He smiled, his Sophie smile, the one he only gave to her. “I know.” There was an edge of smugness in his voice that made her laugh. She slapped his shoulder. “You.” His smile turned to a grin. Even though neither of them had said the three words every lovers and love story demanded be said, she didn’t need them. Not right now. Because she had him. All of him —his body, his heart. Now, she wanted his past and his soul. Then she’d say the three words, and he would, too. “Let’s get back to your dad.” The light went out of his eyes. “Alex.” She kissed the skin right above his heart. “Tell me. Trust me.” His lean body tightened, every muscle taut as if he were about to run into battle. Straightening in his arms, she saw his Adam’s apple move when he swallowed. She met his gaze, a gaze no longer glowing with love. Instead, the old turbulence had engulfed the love, replacing it with the ugly brew raging inside him. “Alex—” “Okay. Fine.” His hand clutched on her hip. “It’s not that big of a deal.” Clearly, it was a very big deal, but if he wanted to take this path, it was all right with her. “Then just tell me.”

“He died.” He closed his eyes, his blond lashes long, the tips darker, like toasted amber. “Right,” she coaxed him forward. “When you were seventeen.” “I was a jerk.” “When he died?” Frustrated, she peered at his face, wishing he’d open his eyes so she could tell what was going on in his head. “No.” She got her wish; his eyes opened, yet instead of giving her a window into his pain, they were blank. “Not after. Never after.” “So…you were a jerk before he died.” “We had a fight.” He blinked, the blue still blank. It was as if he were staring back into the past, forced to look, but not willing to feel. “We had a lot of fights.” Sophie had a hard time believing this. The few times Alex had talked about his dad, she’d seen the love and the pride he’d held for his father. And she’d lay high odds the feelings had been mutual. “You were seventeen. Most guys at seventeen tend to be jerks.” His gaze snapped to hers and her tragic story flowed between them. He chuckled again, a husky sound. “Yeah. I guess.” Silence fell, and she let it go for a while. Intuition told her to let this sink in. The water bubbled around them and the haunting call of a thrush trilled from a barren tree. Finally, she decided another poke might be in order. “Lots of seventeen-year-olds fight with their dads.” His long fingers flexed. “Not like me. I was far worse than most.”

“Really?” Her lover could be arrogant and even vindictive, but she’d never detected an iota of cruelty or violence in him. “I’m having a hard time believing this.” “Believe it.” The words were clipped. “You’ll have to explain before I’ll believe.” The water seemed to grow hotter, as if the heat from his self-anger burned from his body into the pool. Glaring at her, he punched the confession out. “He didn’t think I was concentrating enough at school. He thought I was goofing off too much.” “Hmm?” She let him go, let him spit the ugly from his conscience. “He said he’d worked hard to give me every opportunity and I was taking it for granted.” His eyes burned and yet, the blankness had fallen once more, telling her he was back in the past. “A lot of kids—” He brushed right past her words. “He was right. About everything.” “Everything?” She smoothed her hand over his shoulder. “No one’s right about everything.” “That night, the last night.” He took in a deep breath, his shoulders straightening as if he were taking on a load of guilt. “He said I was going to give him a heart attack if I kept going the way I was going.” “Alex.” The pain in his voice blasted through her own heart, crushing and crashing. “That doesn’t mean—” “I left. Angry.” The broad shoulders slumped, unable to carry the weight. “I thought he was being unreasonable. I needed some freedom for a while.”

“You were the only son.” Sophie saw it, the whole relationship in a snap. “Yeah.” He glanced at her, his gaze dark and damp. “And I had responsibilities.” She stared at him, uncertain. Telling him it wasn’t his fault wouldn’t work. Saying he was only a kid wouldn’t help. The fact that both of these things were true didn’t make them true for Alex. “When I got home late that night, he’d been taken to the hospital.” “Was he already—” “Dead?” He shifted on the ledge, drawing her closer like a shield. “Not yet.” Immediately, she sensed there was worse to come. “You saw him?” “Yes.” He bit into the one word, his voice tight. “He was conscious. He knew he was dying. Everyone knew. But I think he stayed alive long enough to see me.” Her heart trembled. “And?” “And I promised.” “Promised…what?” His gaze met hers, the agony starkly written on his face. “I promised I’d be perfect.” “Alex,” she hissed out his name in dismay. “I promised I’d take care of my mother and sisters. I promised I’d buckle down at school. And I promised I’d be the successful architect he’d always imagined I’d be.” “Very successful.” A wry tinge was in her words because she now realized what had driven this man to such heights so quickly. Yes, he had charm and talent. Yes, he was

amazing in many ways. However, the pinnacle of his profession had been reached for his father, not for himself. “Success was important to him.” His voice was precise and pain-filled. “For me, too.” “Freedom was also important to him.” “What?” He swung his head to stare at her, his wet hair curling in the mist. “What do you mean?” “I didn’t know your dad, but you’ve said quite a lot about him inadvertently.” “Have I?” He leaned back, easing his hold on her, looking like he braced for a blow. “He left Greece to be free, didn’t he?” She saw the crucial sword inside him now, the cruel cut of the blade, the stinging edge of the point. “He wanted more opportunity to do what he wanted to do, right?” “Um. Yeah.” “He made his own way, made his own place when he got to America, didn’t he?” A quick flare of pride swept her love’s face. “Yes. He did. He always did exactly what he wanted to do.” “He didn’t let your mother or anyone else dictate what he did.” “No, he didn’t.” A thoughtful look crossed his face. “He listened to maman, but he made his own decisions.” “If your dad stood right here beside you, what would he want for you now?” Thoughtfulness turned to bemusement. “I don’t know.”

“Sure you do.” Sophie lifted her hands and placed them on Alex's cheeks, turning his face to hers. “Don’t remember your dad as he lay dying. Remember him as the entire man.” Confusion swam in his gaze. “I do.” “You don’t.” She said it with conviction because her gut told her she was grabbing onto the hilt of the sword and she wasn’t about to release it. “Think of your dad when you were younger. When you walked Paris with him.” A flash of memories lit his eyes. “What would he say to you if you were walking those streets now?” Another of their silences fell. A silence filled with the past and the present. A silence where the future lay in wait. She held him in her hands, willing him to find his way back to his true place and not the one his dying father had pushed him into by mistake. A loving mistake, yes, but one that had damaged his son for a long time. “He’d say be happy.” The words blurted from him as if shot from a launch pad. Sophie pulled the sword from his heart and threw it into the pit of the past. Gazing into his dazed eyes, she put the salve on his healing wound. “Be happy. That’s all your dad ever wanted for you.” “Yeah?” Wonder laced the word. “Yeah.” Taking in a deep breath, she kept her gaze on his. “And what makes you happy, love?” He swallowed, hard. “I like being an architect.” “Of course you do.” That was as clear as the water surrounding them.

“I want to do more than big designs, though.” The words rushed out of him. “I like working with Henry, but I don’t want a big IPO.” “Okay.” She slid her hands across his cheeks to his jaw. “What do you want instead?” “I want our employees to be a part of the company. To own part of the company.” “That sounds fantastic.” And so like Alex, the heart of the man she’d found here in this lazy, hot pool and in his small hut. A man not driven to be the biggest, but to be the best. The best Alex Stravoudas he could be. “There’s one more thing I want that will make me happy.” He tightened his grip on her and pulled her in. “Oh?” Her heart pitter-pattered inside as she stared into his azure eyes and saw what he wanted before he claimed it. “You, krotída mou.” He dipped his head and nuzzled her cheek. “You, in my life forever.” Sophie gave him her best smile, the one she’d saved her whole life just for him. “That sounds perfect, Alex. Absolutely perfect.”


Epilogue

“Daddy?” Alex turned in his drafting chair to glance at the open door to his hut. The summer sun splashed a lazy sprinkle of light across the stone steps. His five-year-old daughter stood in the puddle of sunshine in her usual way: one tiny fist on her hip, dainty feet stuck in her favorite princess-pink high heels, and a pronounced frown on her brow. “Hi, mōró.” He shifted in his seat, preparing for the onslaught. “Come here.” “Don’t call me baby.” Danaë marched into the room and her body mannerisms were so like her mother, he had to smile. “And don’t smile.” “Okay.” Lifting her and her green, stuffed friend into his lap, he primed himself to soothe. “What’s wrong?” “Phillip is bad.” She snuggled into his side, her tiara poking him in the chin, her beloved frog clutched in one arm. “He says I can’t play with them.” Them being her two older brothers—Phillip and Henri. “You could play with Silas and Erich,” he proposed in a low, calm voice.

His daughter huffed. Exactly like her mother. “They’re only babies.” “You seemed to like them when they arrived.” Her pudgy hand swept her blond curls over her shoulder in a dismissive wave. “They cry all the time.” “That’s what three-year-olds and babies do.” He tucked her little, round body closer in and leaned over to grab her favorite storybook. “Why don’t I read to you? That always makes everything better. We’ll forget about your brothers and be together here.” Danaë glanced up to meet his gaze, her cocoa eyes brimming with sudden tears. “Hey, hey.” His heart lurched and his arms tightened around his daughter. “This can’t be only about your brothers leaving you out.” “No.” She sniffed into the pink sleeve of her dress. While her mother still paid no attention to clothes, letting him do the shopping, his little girl could not get enough of everything girly and had to be a part of every shopping excursion. Whenever they went to Paris, Sophie marched off with the boys to explore the Ménagerie du Jardin des Plantes, filled with the usual assortment of monkeys, snakes, and ostriches. Alex found himself following his only daughter into the Baby Dior shop. “What’s wrong?” He moved his hand back and forth across her delicate shoulders. “Mommy got mad at me.” Danaë pressed her wet cheek into his chest. “I did something really bad.” “Did you?” Alex plucked the tiara off her head so he could press a kiss on top of her shiny curls. “We all do bad things once in a while.” His little girl eased back, a crease of disbelief on her forehead. “You don’t.”

He did, yet now he knew the art of forgiving himself. There’d been a lot of hard adjustments in his life to get to the point where perfection wasn’t a goal or even on the radar. Sophie had married him believing in his ability to change and he had honored her gift. Henry was still his best friend and partner, but now they ran separate divisions. Henry focused on getting the big contracts and Alex designed his family homes. Both were happy with the results. His maman and sisters were so excited to finally have Sophie in the family, they’d willingly let go of their constant demands on his time. His wife had their respect and determinedly protected him, taking care of many of the family chores so he didn’t experience the horror of having to say no to his family of females. Sophie said he needed to focus on their own family, mostly. And mostly, she was right. His daughter rubbed her fists in her still-streaming eyes, bringing his attention back to her. “You’ve seen your mother yell at me a time or two.” His little girl shrugged. “But usually, you’re right.” Alex laughed, guiltily relishing the fact he had a staunch ally perched on his lap. “Not always.” “Well, I know what I did was bad.” Sighing, his daughter lay her head on his chest again. “And I don’t know if she’ll forgive me.” “She loves you, koritsáki mou.”

“Don’t call me your little girl. I’m not little anymore.” Her head popped up again, brown eyes glinting with an inherited Irish temper. “And just because she loves me doesn’t mean Mommy will forgive me this time.” “Love means forgiveness every single time.” He said the words with complete confidence. Sophie had stood with him through the reorganization of his business. She’d been with him when he’d sold the penthouse, moving their growing family into a pre-war townhouse in Washington Heights. She’d been there, always, when he struggled to put his old promises to his father and everyone around him, to rest. After twelve years, Alex Stravoudas knew with certainty that his wife would never leave his side and that she was the perfect fit for him. “Really?” His little girl’s one word was dubious. “Really.” Laying her favorite book down on his draft table, he decided to tell her something else. Something that still caused him embarrassment when he thought about his actions. “Let me tell you another story other than your favorite.” Her shoulders drooped as if she were positive nothing he could say would make a difference in her dilemma. “Once upon a time…” “Daddy.” A reluctant giggle came. “Once upon a time, I did lots of bad things to your mother.” “I don’t believe you.” She dropped her head down, nuzzling into his cotton shirt, looking for comfort only a daddy could give.

“I did. Ask your mother.” He closed his eyes and went back a dozen years. Back to his anger and confusion and back to his crazy plot against Sophia Feuer. A plot that had blown him into the sky and landed him in the best life a man could wish for. “What did you do?” His daughter’s question returned him to the present. “I forced her to be my fiancée.” “What does fiancée mean?” “It means we were engaged to be married. But it was all fake and I forced your mom to be a part of that.” She lifted her head and gazed at him with horror. “You wouldn’t do that.” “I did.” He brushed a bright curl off her cheek. “I also threatened to close down her bakery.” Danaë’s bow mouth fell open. “You didn’t!” “I did.” “But Mommy loves her bakery more than anything else except us.” “True.” He smiled, thinking about the career Sophie had built around her growing brood of kids. She had a staff of ten now, a loyal crew who allowed her to focus on new pastry recipes and her children rather than doing the daily grind of baking. Her monthly TV appearances drew more business than her staff could handle and made his wife a very happy and rich woman in her own right. “And that’s why she had to do what I demanded.” “She didn’t want to be engaged to you?” Danaë gasped as if this was too impossible of an idea to comprehend.

“Nope. Not at first. I had to convince her.” He grinned at his daughter. “She was extremely mad at me.” A quizzical look filled his little girl’s gaze. “She loves you now, though. Lots.” “Yeah.” He leaned back in his drafting chair, taking her with him. “She does, doesn’t she?” Danaë took his words in, and he saw them dance through her mind, turning little ugly stones over and pitching them away. “So,” she finally concluded. “I can do bad things and Mommy will be mad, but she will still love me.” “Always, koritsáki. Always.” Alex looked down at her round face, a face filled with growing happiness. A feeling of complete joy swept through him, making his eyes fill with happy tears. He’d done this right, made his daughter all better by showing her what was inside him—good and bad. After a long moment of his contemplation, Danaë scrunched her face and reminded him of the love of his life all over again. “What?” she huffed. “Is something on my face?” “Yes, there is.” He kissed her button nose. “Love.”