After the Greek Affair

Belle blinked at him, shocked by his arrogant assumption that he knew his sister’s mind better than Larissa did herself. But why was she surprised? she wondered. Loukas Christakis had a reputation as a ruthless individual who had fought his way to the top and had no compunction about trampling on anyone who got in his way.

He was watching her with a calculating, predatory look in his slate-grey eyes that was unnerving. But Belle had spent too many years being bossed around by the man she was glad she no longer had to call her father; she had finally broken free of John Townsend and she refused to be intimidated by any man.

‘Larissa hasn’t changed her mind, has she?’ she challenged him fiercely. ‘You’ve decided you want Jacqueline Jameson to make her dress. But why? Have you ever seen any of my dresses? Why are you so certain that I can’t make Larissa the perfect wedding gown she’s hoping for?’

Loukas’s jaw tightened at Belle’s belligerent tone, but to his annoyance his conscience pricked. She had a point. ‘No, I haven’t seen any of your work,’ he admitted.

Despite her anger at his attitude, Belle found her eyes drawn to his broad shoulders. He must work out, she thought, feeling a tightening sensation in the pit of her stomach when she lowered her gaze to his well-defined biceps. His skin was a deep bronze colour and his forearms were covered in fine black hairs. What would it feel like to have those strong, muscular arms around her? whispered the little voice in her head that seemed hell-bent on unsettling her.

She suddenly realised that Loukas was speaking again and hastily forced her mind away from his undeniably sexy body.

‘But you’re right; I would prefer Jacqueline to design Larissa’s dress. She is a personal friend as well as an internationally acclaimed designer. I’ve never heard of you,’ he said bluntly. ‘All I know is that Wedding Belle has only existed for three years. To be frank, I’m not sure you have the experience to design a top-quality wedding dress for my sister and complete the commission to such a tight deadline. Jacqueline has run her design company for twenty years, and I know I can trust her to produce a stunning bridal gown in time for the wedding.’

‘I can do that—if only you would give me the chance.’ Belle leaned forward, her eyes fixed on Loukas. ‘I’m prepared to work night and day to ensure that Larissa has her dream dress.’ When his harsh expression did not alter she shook her head in frustration. ‘Larissa chose me. Surely that counts for something? She’s an adult who should be free to make her own decisions. What right do you have to organise her life for her?’

‘My sister has already been let down by the first designer she chose. Having spent days trying to console her when the wedding dress she had been promised never materialised, I think I have every right to ensure she is not disappointed again,’ Loukas snapped. ‘I realise you must have hoped that this commission would benefit your business, but I have paid you a substantial fee for your wasted time today.’

Belle’s eyes dropped to the slip of paper in her hand. ‘So this cheque is actually a bribe?’ she said in an appalled voice. She hadn’t understood why Loukas had given her enough money to pay for a luxury world cruise rather than simply reimburse her for her plane ticket to Greece, but it made sense now. ‘You expect me to take the money and disappear back to England. Larissa will have no choice at this late stage but to agree to Jacqueline Jameson making her dress, and you’ll have your own way. My God!’ She stared at him disgustedly. ‘What are you? Some kind of control freak?’

The crack of Loukas’s palm onto the wooden table was as loud as a gunshot and caused Belle almost to jump out of her skin. ‘I refuse to apologise for wanting to protect my sister,’ he growled, his face taut with anger. ‘She trusted Toula Demakis, but all the damned woman was interested in was getting as much money as she could out of her. Now the wedding is five weeks away, and I am not prepared to risk Larissa being let down again.’

Belle’s heart sank when she saw the implacable expression on Loukas’s face. ‘It’s true that Wedding Belle isn’t doing as well as I’d hoped when I started out,’ she admitted honestly. ‘But many businesses are struggling because of the economic recession.’

She had been so excited three years ago when, soon after graduating from art school, she had used the small inheritance from her mother to pay the first year’s rent on the studio. Not even John’s scathing comment that she did not stand a chance in the cut-throat world of fashion design had dented her optimism. She hadn’t cared about his opinion. The revelation that he was not her father had freed her from his tyranny and she no longer had to put up with him trying to control her life.

Why did some men feel the need to exert their power? she wondered, darting a glance at Loukas’s arrogant features. He had said he wanted to protect his sister, but it seemed to Belle that—like John Townsend—Loukas had a pig-headed desire always to have his own way. There seemed little point in trying to persuade him to listen to her, she thought wearily. But the memory of Larissa’s excitement when she had visited the studio in London prompted her to try.

‘I can’t deny that a high-profile wedding could do wonders for my business. But that’s not why I want to make Larissa’s dress.’ She ignored Loukas’s sceptical expression and leaned across the table, an intent expression on her face. ‘I love what I do. Making wedding dresses isn’t just a job, it’s my passion, and even if Larissa’s wedding was going to be a small affair, with only a handful of guests and no media interest, I’d still be glad that she chose me as her designer.’

She tore the cheque in half and pushed the pieces across the table towards him. ‘I’m not interested in your money. I want to design Larissa’s dress because I like her. We clicked instantly when she came to my studio, and I’m excited about showing her my ideas.’

She met his steel-grey gaze unflinchingly, honesty and a fierce determination to convince him that she was genuine blazing in her eyes. ‘Give me a chance, Mr Christakis, and I promise I won’t let your sister down.’

Her eyes were the cerulean blue of the sky on a summer’s day, Loukas noted. His attention was locked on her lovely face, as if he was in the grip of a sorcerer’s spell and could not look away from her. He was utterly fascinated by her animated features when she spoke, the way she moved her hands in quick, darting gestures to emphasise a point. She reminded him of a beautiful, fragile butterfly—like the ones that often settled on the bougainvillaea bushes growing over the walls of his villa—and he was sure that if he tried to capture her she would fly away and evade him.

Why was he indulging in such fanciful nonsense? he asked himself irritably. He was captivated by Belle Andersen—drawn by some invisible force to lean forward across the table so that his face was inches from hers. She had spoken of passion for her work, but the word evoked an image in his head of her lying on his bed, her slender body naked, her face flushed and her incredible blue eyes darkened with desire.

Her skin was as smooth as porcelain, her soft pink lips—slightly parted, he noted—a temptation he was struggling to resist. The atmosphere between them simmered with sexual tension, and the voices of the other customers in the bar faded and did not impinge on his ferocious awareness of her.

‘Are you married, Ms Andersen?’

Belle blinked, the sound of Loukas’s voice releasing her from the enchantment of his mesmerising sensuality so that she was once more aware of her surroundings. She heard the clink of glasses as a waiter passed by their table, the cry of a gull strutting along the quay.

Dear heaven! She closed her eyes briefly and dragged oxygen into her lungs, her heart hammering. For a few heart-stopping seconds she had thought that Loukas was going to kiss her. His face was so close to hers that when he spoke his breath whispered across her lips, and she imagined him closing the gap between them and slanting his mouth over hers. She felt almost bereft that he had not.

‘No…no, I’m not,’ she mumbled, finding herself reluctant to sit back in her seat and break the tangible, indefinable something that quivered in the air between them. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘I wondered whether your passion…’ he hesitated fractionally, his eyes lingering on her mouth ‘…for designing wedding gowns stems from your own experience as a bride.’

Belle shook her head firmly. ‘My passion is for art and creativity. I am inspired by history. At the moment I’m especially influenced by the sumptuous extravagance of the Palace of Versailles at the time of Louis XIV. The château is renowned as one of the most stunning examples of eighteenth-century French art. I’ve visited several times and come away with ideas that I’ve incorporated into my designs. My aspiration is to transform the images in my head and make dresses that are incredibly beautiful, yet wearable. I think a bride needs to feel comfortable on her big day and confident that her dress works on a practical level—’

She broke off and gave a rueful smile when she realised that she had been talking non-stop. ‘There you are,’ she said sheepishly, embarrassed by a display of enthusiasm that she was sure made her sound like a gauche teenager rather than a professional businesswoman. ‘I’m afraid I tend to get carried away by my passion.’

In the silence that followed her words she was aware of the tension that smouldered like glowing embers between her and Loukas, ready to catch light at any moment. Her senses seemed to be attuned to him, so that she was conscious of the faint acceleration of his breathing and the subtle scent of his cologne. Her heart-rate quickened and she could feel her cheeks grow warm, as if molten heat was coursing through her veins. What was the matter with her? she asked herself angrily. She had met attractive men before. But none had ever made such an impact on her as Loukas Christakis.

Belle’s passion for her designing was undeniable, Loukas brooded, unable to tear his eyes from her lovely face. Maybe he should he forget his reservations about employing an unknown designer and trust Larissa’s judgement?

‘How did my sister come to hear of you?’ he asked abruptly.

‘She saw some of my dresses featured in the fashion magazine Style Icon.’

Loukas’s brows rose in surprise. ‘You must be more well-known than I thought if your work caught the attention of the editor of Style Icon. The magazine is reputed to be the world’s top-selling fashion bible.’

‘Well, it was a bit of luck, really,’ Belle explained honestly. ‘My brother was working on a wedding shoot for the magazine. You might have heard of him? Dan Townsend? He’s making quite a name for himself as a fashion photographer. When one of the designers dropped out at the last minute, Dan persuaded the editor of Style Icon to use some dresses from my collection.’

Against his will Loukas found himself intrigued by Belle. Her personal life was of no interest to him, he reminded himself, yet for some inexplicable reason he wanted to know more about her. ‘Why do you and your brother have different names?’

Belle hesitated. There was no shame in admitting the truth, she reminded herself. The fact that she was illegitimate was not her fault. It had been her choice to change her surname by deed poll from Townsend to her mother’s maiden name of Andersen when she had discovered the truth of her identity.

‘We have different fathers.’

It was the one thing that had saddened her when she had learned that John was not her biological father. But Dan had insisted it did not matter. ‘You’re still my sister, even if technically we’re only half-siblings,’ he had told her gently. ‘And look on the bright side—at least you’re not related to the most unpleasant man on the planet. I have to live with the knowledge that because Mum chose to remain married to my father you never knew your father.’

Nor would she ever know now. Her mother had died and taken the identity of the man she had had an affair with to her grave, Belle thought sadly. She had no way of finding out who her real father was, although she had thought about him endlessly during the past three years—since John had made his stunning revelation on the day of her mother’s funeral that she was not his daughter.

If only Gudrun had told her the truth… She quickly blocked off that pathway of thought. It was pointless to feel angry with her mother, ridiculous to feel betrayed by the woman she had adored. Gudrun had obviously believed she was doing the right thing when she had allowed Belle to grow up believing that John Townsend was her father.

But her mother had been forced to make a stark choice, Belle acknowledged. She knew now that John had threatened to deny Gudrun any contact with Dan if she broke up their marriage. He had agreed to bring up the child she had conceived with her lover as his own if she stayed with him.

No woman should ever be faced with the prospect of losing her child, Belle brooded. Gudrun had put her love for her son before her personal happiness, but because of that Belle had endured a miserable childhood, wondering why the man she believed was her father seemed to despise her. What a tangled mess it had been, she thought sadly. All brought about because her mother had married the wrong man. Gudrun’s diary had revealed that she had known within a few months of the wedding that her marriage to John had been a mistake, but by then she had been pregnant with Dan and so had been trapped in a loveless relationship.

She would never make the same mistake, Belle vowed. She loved designing beautiful, romantic wedding gowns, but the idea of giving up her independence for a man held no appeal whatsoever. Especially a man like Loukas Christakis. The thought slid into her head as she glanced across the table and felt her stomach dip at the sight of his hard-boned features. He was the most breathtakingly handsome man she had ever laid eyes on, and she was sure he could be charming and charismatic when it suited him, but he was too forceful for her liking—too controlling—too much of a reminder of the man she had grown up believing to be her father.

She was wasting her time here. The rigid set of Loukas’s square jaw told her that. Disappointment settled like a lead weight in the pit of her stomach and she suddenly felt desperate to escape his brooding presence. She drank the rest of her juice, set the glass down on the table and picked up her bag. ‘All right, Mr Christakis. You win. If I take the next ferry back to Athens I may be able to catch a flight to London this evening.’ She paused and then asked huskily, ‘Can we make up an excuse for Larissa to explain why I’m not available to make her dress—a family emergency or something? I don’t want her to think that I simply didn’t turn up—which I’m sure you would allow her to believe,’ she added accusingly.

Loukas did not reply immediately, and in the silence that stretched between them his slate-grey gaze gave no clue to his thoughts. ‘It matters to you what Larissa thinks?’ he queried at last.

‘Of course it does.’ Belle gave him an impatient look. ‘Your sister is a lovely person, and I’d hate her to think I’d let her down like her first designer did. I know you’ll tell me it’s none of my business, but I think you’re wrong to interfere in her life—even if you have the best intentions for doing so,’ she continued firmly when Loukas gave her a dark glare. ‘There’s a fine line between wanting to protect her and being too controlling, and you could find that Larissa will start to resent you for preventing her from making her own decisions.’

‘You’re right. My relationship with my sister is absolutely none of your business,’ Loukas growled, irritated that her words had struck a nerve. He did not want to control Larissa; it was a ridiculous suggestion. He simply wanted to do what was best for her and take care of her—as he had promised his parents he would.

His mind turned to the past—to memories that still tugged on his soul. ‘You have to be a man now, son, and look after your mother and sister,’ his father had choked while the life had slipped from his body as fast as the blood had gushed from the gunshot wound to his stomach—courtesy of a couple of young punks high on crack. Loukas had been sixteen then, terrified of the responsibility that had been thrust upon him and ravaged with grief for his beloved Papa.

Two years later his mother had clutched his arm with a hand that was so thin he had been able to see every vein beneath her papery skin. Her cancer had been diagnosed too late for her to have a chance, and without health insurance or money to pay for the drugs that might have prolonged her life a little the end had come quickly. ‘Take care of Larissa,’ had been the last words she had whispered. And standing by her bed, watching helplessly as she left the world, Loukas had given her his word.

How dared Belle Andersen criticise him? he thought furiously. She could have no idea what he had felt like at eighteen, knowing that he was totally responsible for his six-year-old sister. Life had been tough, and there had been many nights when he had been unable to sleep, scared that he wasn’t strong enough to cope.

Of course he was over-protective of Lissa, he thought savagely. He’d had first-hand experience of how dangerous the world could be when he had witnessed his father’s murder. But Belle’s warning that Larissa might resent what she had termed his interference played on his mind. He recalled his sister’s excitement when she had told him that Belle was coming to Aura to design her wedding dress.

Gamoto! he cursed silently. Maybe Belle had a point when she had said that Lissa should be free to make her own decisions. Maybe it was time he learned to take a step back and accept that his sister was no longer a child. Besides, what could go wrong? Belle would be on Aura, under his watchful gaze. She had said she was prepared to work night and day to complete Larissa’s dress, and he would make sure she fulfilled her promise.

Once again his eyes were drawn to Belle’s mouth, and he felt his body tighten with desire as he imagined plundering those soft pink lips. He could not deny his sizzling sexual attraction to her—and, more intriguingly, his instincts told him that she was as aware as he was of the white-hot chemistry between them.

Belle stood up from the table and held out her hand to Loukas. ‘I’d like my phone back, please,’ she said briskly. ‘I need to ring the airport and see if I can change my return flight.’

He donned his sunglasses and got to his feet before he dropped her phone into her palm. His fingers only brushed against her hand for a few seconds but the contact of his skin against hers sent a tingling sensation up her arm. Belle jerked her hand back so quickly that she almost dropped her phone. She felt hot all over, every nerve ending quivering with her fierce awareness of him. Get a grip, she told herself impatiently, infuriated that he dominated her senses.

He was so tall. Now that they were both standing once more, Belle was struck anew by his size, his undoubted strength and his sheer, virile masculinity. Maybe it was a good thing she was going home, she thought shakily. She seemed incapable of controlling her body’s response to Loukas—a fact that became shamefully obvious when she glanced down and saw the outline of her nipples jutting beneath the silky material of her jacket.

Face flaming, she crossed her arms defensively over her chest and began to scroll through the contacts in her phone’s memory, searching for the number for Athens airport.

‘Stop messing about and come with me now if you want a lift to Aura.’

She snapped her head up to find that Loukas was already holding the larger of her suitcases, and while she gaped at him he rounded the table, picked up her other case, and walked out of the bar.

‘Wait…’ His long stride had already taken him across the road. Belle teetered after him, cursing her vertiginous heels and the uneven cobbled surface of the quay. ‘I don’t understand.’

She finally caught up with him, and her heart lurched when he glanced down and subjected her to a cool stare. He was so incredibly good-looking, she thought helplessly. She was embarrassed by her reaction to him, but could not tear her eyes from the sculpted perfection of his hard-boned features.

‘Do you mean I can make Larissa’s dress?’ She was confused by his sudden about-face, but why else would he have offered to take her to his island? ‘Aren’t you worried that I’ll dupe your sister out of a fortune—like that Toula woman did—and then disappear, leaving her without a wedding dress?’ she demanded bitterly, still fuming at his treatment of her.

‘No, I’m not worried about that.’ They had reached the edge of the quay and Loukas dropped her cases into his boat before turning to face her. ‘I have every confidence that you will design the wedding gown of Larissa’s dreams and make her very happy. Because if you don’t—’ his hard smile sent a shiver down Belle’s spine ‘—you will answer to me.’

Belle finally lost control of her temper. Loukas Christakis wasn’t just insulting and arrogant, he was a bully who clearly enjoyed bossing people around. But she’d been pushed around by John Townsend all her childhood—sometimes literally, she remembered grimly. She wasn’t going to put up with it again from any man.

‘Are you threatening me, Mr Christakis?’ she demanded, placing her hands on her hips and wishing fervently that she was taller and did not have to tilt her head to meet his gaze.

‘Merely warning you,’ he said silkily. ‘Disappoint me, and more importantly Larissa, and I promise you will find it impossible to gain financial backing for Wedding Belle anywhere in the world.’

She believed him. His wealth and his status as one of the most brilliant and ruthless businessmen of the decade gave him that kind of power. She had no doubt that he could destroy her little company as easily as he could crush an ant beneath his shoe.

‘Well? Are you coming? I haven’t got all day for you to make up your mind.’

She gave a start at the sound of his faintly mocking tone and realised that he had jumped into the boat and was holding out his hand to help her step on board. She would love to tell him to take a running jump, Belle thought viciously, preferably over the edge of a high cliff. But the stark truth was that she needed this job. If she could not start to pay back her business loan to the bank Wedding Belle would collapse without any help from Loukas.

In her high heels and pencil skirt there was no way she could climb into the boat without his help. Reluctantly she leaned forward to take his hand, and gave a startled cry when, having lost patience with her dithering, Loukas gripped her waist and swung her down from the quay.

The few seconds that he held her against him scrambled her brain, and the feel of his muscular torso and rock-hard thighs pressed so intimately close to her body was causing a coiling sensation deep in her pelvis. She snatched a breath when he set her down and gave him a fulminating glare, desperate to hide her awareness of him. ‘Thank you,’ she said icily, ‘but I could have managed perfectly well, Mr Christakis—’

‘Nonsense.’ He cut her off mid-tirade. ‘You’re as wobbly as a newborn foal in those ridiculous shoes. And you’d better make it Loukas. My sister was keen that I should welcome you to Aura, and she’ll expect us to be on first-name terms—Belle.’

Something about the way he said her name sent a little quiver through Belle, and his amused smile stole her breath. Already devastatingly sexy, the sudden upward curve of his sensual mouth caused her knees to sag, and she could feel her heart thundering as if she’d run a marathon.

‘You’d better hold on to this before the wind whips it away.’ Loukas lifted the elegant cream and black hat from Belle’s head, and stiffened when pale gold hair unfurled and fell almost to her waist in a silken stream. He had been right about her being a blonde. In the sunlight her hair was the colour of platinum. It seemed unlikely that the shade was natural, but she was so tiny compared to his six-foot-four frame that her head only came halfway up his chest, and he could see no telltale sign of darker roots on her scalp.