Greek Millionaire, Unruly Wife

Greek Millionaire, Unruly Wife

SUN CHARA

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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2017

Copyright © Sun Chara 2017

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Sun Chara asserts the moral right to

be identified as the author of this work

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is available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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Ebook Edition ©April 2017 ISBN:9780008105747

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Unlimited thanks to my wonderful brother, Harry,

who is one in a million … believe the best is yet to be!

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Also by Sun Chara

About the Author

About HarperImpulse

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

“I’ll take that one.”

“The green gown, Monsieur Leonadis?”

“No, the model.”

The man chuckled. “The model’s not for sale, monsieur.”

“You wanna bet?” Michalis Leonadis loosened his tie, lifted an arrogant eyebrow at the sales manager of the Haute Couture show in Paris, and geared up for battle…not with the manager but…with her. Tracking the model every step with his slitted gaze, he slipped a hand inside the pocket of his jacket and extracted a card, then a pen.

Julia, strutting down the runway and steaming up the ballroom in the Hôtel de Crillon had cost him a marriage, and a billion dollars in a Tokyo deal gone belly-up. As if that hadn’t been enough, his head of security informed him she’d recently given—

Applause broke out, splintering his thoughts, and spiking his fury…his passion. For revenge.

She’d ripped his heart out. Shredded his pride. Cost him.

Her untimely exit had rocked his sphere and his bank account. She nearly bankrupted him. He’d put everything on hold to search for her, and to clean up the legal mess his uncle’s amour had created when she’d charmed…er…scammed the old guy into signing half the Leonadis fortune to her and ultimately her heir. The fortune Michalis had slaved over years to amass.

He set his jaw, batted that distraction from his mind, and turned his laser sharp eyes back to the supermodel, his present dilemma.

When he found out Julia had been living it up in Paris, he’d shut her out, and scrambled to salvage his business and stay afloat—he’d waste no more time on her. He was better off without her.

A spike lodged in his aorta, but he ignored the sting.

He clamped his teeth, his breath rumbling in his chest and escaping through his nose in a hostile sound. How dare she keep that a secret from him?

Cold, calculating bi—the expletive stinging his tongue was smothered by shouts of “Brava!” from the audience.

He scrawled a message on his business card, adrenaline pumping him to action.

She’d definitely pay. He curled his lip. His way.

Michalis slapped the card in the man’s hand. “Make sure she gets it.”

The man glanced at the bold insignia of the Leonadis Cruise Line on the card and inclined his head. “Oui, Monsieur Leonadis.”

Michalis tuned him out.

He liked things simple. She’d been anything but.

He liked to keep his focus razor-sharp, his mind alert, his instinct in play and quantum leap over his competition. That biz acumen had held him in good stead when, years ago, he’d taken over his uncle’s run-down tourist boat rentals in Athens and built it into a mega international shipping line. At thirty-eight he still thrived on the thrill, the challenge. Julia’d been that, and he’d conquered her resistance, caught her; an unbidden smile skimmed his mouth, then morphed into a snarl.

He’d given her everything—he’d given her the world. And in return, at the first sign of rough waters, she’d jumped ship and created a tidal wave of confusion.

But now, she looked none the worse for it. And that rankled his ego.

The stylist had swept her sun-bleached hair up, and the dresser had fitted her into a body-hugging gown, matching her eyes and the emeralds dangling from her ears. The high collar and flared hem, a demure contrast to her sultry gaze, pouty mouth, and the sway of her hips as she worked the catwalk.

Worked the room.

Cool. Sexy. Seductive.

The male clientele salivated and the women gasped in admiration.

He smirked. So much for the sophisticated façade of the VIPs who’d flocked to the fashion extravaganza. His smirk turned into a guffaw. She’d gotten to them… engaged their imagination…triggering fantasies and loosening purse strings.

He should know. His already rock hard abs tensed. She’d gotten under his skin…his psyche. Shaking his head, he chuckled; an empty sound. Past tense…had. No more. The padlock on his heart and ice in his veins proved it.

He’d not end up a stooge like his uncle.

Nodding to the man holding his business card, Michalis strode to the exit, but couldn’t resist tossing her another glance over his shoulder.

A hot babe. He jutted his chin. A classy stunner. That’s what had attracted him in the first place—amusement tugged the corner of his lips. How did she manage to walk on those high heels? He shrugged, about to continue on his way, but then braked to a stop.

She paused, pivoted. And the fur stole slipped from her shoulders, the edgy cut of the neckline plunging to the small of her back.

His chest tightened, his hand fisted, a growl built in his throat.

Beneath the stage lights, her bare back gleamed smooth, flawless…and his fingers tingled, his memory kindling. He’d touched her…her skin hot beneath his fingers…his mouth nibbling down to the curve of her hip—he ground his teeth, his pulse thudding—he’d cupped her buttocks, turned her over, her breasts scorching his chest, his mouth on hers…she’d wrapped her legs around him, holding him close, and he had thrust deep inside her—

A crescendo of sound from the band splintered his erotic fantasy, and he blinked, gulping the growl away.

She inched off a long glove, tossed it to the audience and did the same with the other, to the eruption of wolf whistles. Then, dismissing her admirers with a quirk of an eyebrow, she placed a hand on her hip and sauntered away, the stole trailing at her feet. At the top of the ramp, she paused, glanced over her shoulder, hinted a smile, winked and disappeared back stage to deafening applause and cheers of, “Encore!”

Michalis grazed his jaw with his knuckles.

Her signals were practiced and unmistakable. Luring…snaring… vanishing.

She’d played that game on him, and every cell in his body sizzled with desire, but his mind defied the temptation.

The sensation warring inside him could be nothing more than his determination to recoup what belonged to him. What she’d stolen from him. He curled his lip in contempt and stomped from the ballroom, his pulse drilling into his ribs. His every move had to be a tactical tour de force to ensure a victory.

* * *

“Merci beaucoup.” Julia kicked off her shoes and thanked the wardrobe girl helping her from the gown, the chiffon a caress upon her skin.

Unclipping the emeralds from her ears, she set them on the dresser, and a sigh struggled from deep inside her. Not long ago, she’d owned countless such designer gowns, shoes, jewelry, and had the man—the life—to go with it. A sound gurgled in her throat, and the girl cast her an odd look. Julia swallowed and turned away, blinking back the tears pressing against her lids.

In just three months, her dreams had soured, her fairytale marriage to the Greek billionaire fractured, but—a tremulous smile traced her mouth—she hadn’t come away empty handed.

She pulled a sweater over her head and slipped into her jeans, sucking in her tummy to get the zipper and snap to work. She grimaced. A few more pounds still to lose, but with the tricks of the trade, she managed to fit into the designer threads. Unclipping her hair, she fluffed it with her fingers, let it fall to her shoulders and rubbed her scalp with her fingertips. A hint of hairspray tainted the air. She twitched her nose and glanced in the mirror. Her makeup would have to wait ’til she got home.

“Ah, chéri.”

She glanced up from slipping on her ankle boots and smiled. “Hey, Chachee, how’d it go?”

“Magnifique!” He kissed the tips of his fingers for emphasis.

“Of course, what else for Chachee Originals?” She grinned, plunked her wool beret on her head, grabbed her jacket and shoulder bag. “Brr.” She mocked a shiver. “Paris in the spring might be the stuff of dreams, but it’s freezing today.”

“Doesn’t have to be, chéri,” he teased, wiggling his pierced brow. “You have an admirer.”

“You’re terrific at boosting a girl’s confidence, Charles.” She smiled and stepped toward the exit sign above the door. “But I gotta go.”

“Worth checking this one out.”

“Some other time.” A man wasn’t her priority right now, not since Michalis—a pang pierced her heart, and she shook her head, dispelling the taunting image. Michalis Leonadis had been her colossal blunder, and she wouldn’t think about him. Not now. Not ever.

“Oh, no.” Charles slapped a hand on his forehead and another against his heart in mock despair.

She laughed, and he put the card in her palm, folding her fingers over it.

“I’d go for him myself but—” He winked.

She laughed the louder, for Charles was as straight as they came, with a wife and a couple of kids. But his flamboyant style: blue locks and bejeweled hands, often gave rise to rumors in this highly-strung, fast-paced fashion industry. So, he nipped them in the bud with his brash repartee.

“But since I won’t—” He took her by the shoulders, spun her around, and gave her a nudge out the door. “—how ’bout you go check him out?”

“I can’t, Chach,” she said. “I gotta get home.”

He shrugged, walked past her and raising a hand, pointed toward the lobby.

“Oh, okay, I’ll take a peek on my way out.”

His chuckle echoed back to her. It brought a twitch of amusement to her lips, and then she sobered. She owed him a debt of gratitude. If he hadn’t booked her on the show, she wouldn’t have made the month’s rent. At twenty-eight, and having been away from the fashion circuit for over a year, modeling opportunities were few and far between.

Walking down the hallway, she looped the strap of her purse over her shoulder and opened her hand. She glanced at the card and got socked in the stomach. A gasp shot from her mouth. Her head spun, her limbs shook, and her pulse raced. The familiar signature zoomed in and out of focus. 8 p.m. Le Bar. ML. Bold, direct, like the man.

What was Michalis Leonadis doing on her doorstep after a year’s silence?

Perspiration oozed from her every pore, making her sweater stick to her skin even in the air-conditioned corridor. Michalis Leonadis, the man she’d loved, once…and the man she now hated with every fiber of her being.

What did he want? Shivers iced her skin. What did he know?

Chapter 2

Could he know about—?

“Dear God, no.” Fear squeezed her heart, and her mouth felt thick with sawdust. A tremor ripped through her, and she collapsed against the wall, hyperventilating.

Julia choked down the bile rising in her throat and rushed into the bathroom. Gripping the counter, she leaned over the sink and sucked in mouthfuls of air, stemming the chills frisking her body. She twisted the faucet open, splashed water on her face and glanced in the wall-length mirror, the paleness of her skin evident even beneath her makeup.

“Michalis Leonadis.” His name fizzed between her teeth, acid on her tongue. She’d given him her heart, her body…everything, and he’d trampled on it. A whimper sounded from deep in her throat, and haunting memories flooded her mind…

“Michalis mou,” she’d called, unlocking the door of their Athens penthouse. The breathtaking view of the Aegean Sea always brought a lift to her heart and a smile to her face; but it was nothing compared to the joy bursting in her heart from the doctor’s news that she wanted to share with her husband of three months.

“Agape mou, you’re back early.” He walked from the bathroom barefoot, drying his hair with a towel, another towel tied around his hips. A dash of dark hair plastered to his sculpted chest, a sexy smile on his mouth.

Breath caught in her throat, her heart skipped, her stomach dipped.

This sexy hunk was hers. She smiled, and started to run to him.

The bedroom door opened and her step faltered, the smile wiped from her face.

“Michalis mou.” The woman giggled, tying the sash of a terry towel robe over the skimpiest of negligees. She teetered toward him on high-heeled slippers and stumbled into his arms. “I don’t think this is such a good idea, even for the honeym—”

“Apparently not,” Julia said, the words crackling from her frozen lips. She shot Michalis a lethal look. “You got caught.” Every nerve in her body twittered, and she swayed, but managed to stand her ground, her gaze darting from her husband to the other woman.

She couldn’t fathom the scene before her eyes. She blinked. Swallowed. Perhaps she’d wake up from this nightmare.

“I was going to tell you—” The words dissolved in his throat, and he narrowed his gaze, the navy flecks in his eyes darkening.

Julia staggered back a step and seized the door handle before she slithered to the carpet. Raw pain must’ve surfaced on her features, for he stepped toward her, the scent of his cologne stinging the gouge inside her.

She held up one hand, shaking her head.

“It’s not what you—” He glanced at his guest, and scrubbed his shaven cheek with his fist.

“I’m sorry,” the woman murmured, tripping back into the bedroom.

He nodded. “Julia—”

She backed away. At least it had been in the guestroom and not their bedroom…on their bed. For some perverse reason, the thought gashed her mind. A hysterical laugh bubbled in her throat, and she flew out the door.

The streets of Athens buzzed with activity. Shoppers, tourists and locals sat at outside tavernas, sampling souvlaki, spanakopita while others sipped Greek coffee, Coca-Cola or ouzo, the licorice flavored liquor. Bouzouki music serenaded to the blaring of horns and irate taxi drivers gesturing out the windows at other drivers.

Laughter. Life everywhere.

But Julia felt dead…except for the life growing inside her.

Aimlessly, she wandered the narrow roads, ignoring his mobile calls and ditching the chauffeur he’d sicced on her. Somehow, she made her way past the outdoor market and to the beach. She meandered through the crowds of sunbathers to a secluded patch beneath a eucalyptus tree. Hours drifted by, and she sat there, gazing out to sea, praying for an answer. The sea breeze cooled her cheeks, and by the time the sun turned the sky into a kaleidoscope of color, the initial shock had worn off.

At last, she came to a decision and picked up his next call.

“I’m flying back from the Mykonos office,” he said, his words cool through the airwaves. “We’ll discuss it tonight.”

“What time?” she murmured, detached…numb.

“It’ll be late because—”

She hung up, sickened by his betrayal.

An hour later, she’d packed, called a cab and headed for Athens International Airport, jetting out of his life…

Now, he’d blasted back into her life in Paris, and she wondered why.

But it didn’t matter. Her wounds had healed, and Michalis Leonadis could go jump in the Mediterranean for all she cared. She crumpled his card in her hand and was about to trash it when a couple of girls burst into the ladies room, their chatter shattering her thoughts.

Julia made her exit, biting her lip. Maybe it should matter to her. Michalis Leonadis did everything with purpose. Her throat constricted and her temples throbbed. Angst stabbed. She drew in a breath and eased up. There was no way he could know. None.

But just to be sure, she rummaged in her purse for her cell and called home, her matchbox-sized one-bedroom pad. “Mrs. Knightley, I may be a bit late tonight.” A pause. “Did anyone visit today?” A sigh of relief filtered from her mouth. “No? Okay.”

Michalis Leonadis did not know her secret. And he wouldn’t know. She pressed her lips tight, but her shoulders slumped. One day she’d have to tell him … and tell Amy about her father.

But not today.

Today was about leveling the playing field. She’d go and see why he was here, why he sought her out after a year’s silence. The battle lines had been drawn…the divorce would be final when he signed the papers. And he could do that from Greece via his solicitor.

She crinkled her brow. Did he think she’d take him to the cleaners? A brittle sound broke from her lips. Her eyes misted. She wanted nothing from him except what he’d already given her.

Bashing down the emotion, she steeled her nerves and walked across the atrium, each step a lead weight. She bypassed the crystal chandeliers, the needlepoint wall-hangings, the ornate furniture, the statues, and the opulent deco of this palatial Louis XVI historic hotel…but didn’t see them.

Knowledge was power. She must stack her arsenal to trump the powerful Greek she’d married.

Her past folly. She shook her shoulders. But it would not become her present, and certainly not her future. She fumbled in her step, and a smile feathered her mouth. Her future waited at home.

A moment later, she stood outside the near empty Le Bar. The fashion trendsetters would soon be descending to the delight of the cocktail waitresses waiting for customers and subsequent tips. Julia inhaled and exhaled several puffs of air, swiped her damp palms on her thighs, flicked a stray strand of hair off her shoulders and with her head held high marched into the intimately lit lounge. The melody from the pianist wrapped around her, soothing, but then turned abrasive.

She saw him.

A trickle of moisture between her breasts, her mouth went dry. He lounged at a table in the far corner of the room with drink in hand and clicked off a call on his phone.

Her heart thudded. Memories flooded her mind. Bittersweet, and she wished…but no, he’d destroyed everything they’d shared.

Destroyed her.

At that precise moment, he glanced her way, and the blue intensity of his eyes tacked her to the spot. Shockwaves ripped through her, rocking her world anew. She ground her teeth, determined not to feel anything for this man, except indifference.

The best defense was a good offense, so she stormed across the floor to his table. He at least had the good manners to stand up.

“Julia,” he said, the deep timbre of his voice jolting her senses.

“Michalis,” she murmured, her tone cool.

For a second or two neither one of them said anything, then he mocked a cough.

Resentment gnawed her insides. Not even a hello from him. This did not bode well.

“A drink?” he offered, motioning her to sit down.

“No thank you,” she murmured, standing her ground.

He sat back down, noted her defiance and waved to the waitress. “A sparkling water with lime.”

“You’ll have to drink it, Michalis.”

He hiked a brow, and sipped his bourbon on the rocks, his dark gaze glued on her. He only ever had one drink, max, of the hard stuff. Discipline. He always wanted to be in control of his faculties.

She smirked. In charge of everything and everyone. Including her. She wondered if the control tactics extended to his family. Then she blinked, realizing she knew very little about the man she married. It had been a whirlwind romance, a spur of the moment wedding at Our Lady Tourliani Monastery on Mykonos.

Emotion surged inside her, nearly suffocating her. She drew in a breath and exhaled a breath. A celebrity style wedding loomed on the horizon afterward he’d hinted. Under his magnetic spell, like a fool, she believed him. But no more. The magic had vaporized.

Then why are you quaking, and why is your heart pounding? She ignored the self-inflicted taunt, and at that moment, her stomach rumbled. Mortified, she slapped her hand over her abdomen.

“Hungry?” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“No.” She’d skipped lunch and dinner to ensure she fit into the gowns, but seeing him again had made her lose her appetite. A sliver of a grin brushed her mouth. Something good might come out of this after all—a few lost pounds.

“Something amusing?” he asked, tone dry.

She shook her head and plunged into the depths. “Why are you here?”

He snared her in his sights. “Sit down and I’ll tell you.”

Chapter 3

Julia collapsed onto the velvet chair and licked her lips, the cherry flavor of her lipstick spiking her taste-buds.

He shuttered his eyes, his jaw granite hard, and his grip on the tumbler tightened.

“Okay, I’m sitting,” she said, her tone defiant.

He remained silent and, swirling the liquid in his glass, kept her on tenterhooks. A delay maneuver? A control tactic?

Julia took the moment of reprieve to study him. A Ralph Lauren jacket framed his broad shoulders, the Trump original tie a contrast to the white shirt stretched across his chest. His chiseled features bespoke of his Greek ancestry, his skin tanned, his hands…strong, capable, tender…in the way he’d touched her, held her, stroked her…loved her. Anguish tore through her. She’d laid her head on his chest, the swirl of hair tickling her cheek, his heart thundering in her ear…but that had been a million years ago.