Contracted To Her Greek Enemy / Crowning His Unlikely Princess

It wouldn’t be pleasant. She knew cheap and cheerful would only go so far when surrounded by elegant and rich, but she’d get by. She’d never see these people again and if they were so hung up on her wardrobe they weren’t people she wanted to know.

Damen’s eyes narrowed as if her words puzzled him. ‘You’ll arouse suspicion if you don’t dress like my lover.’

Steph raised her eyebrows. ‘You expect me to wear a negligee in public?’ She had no doubt his women wore silk and lace, enticing and scanty.

Instead of responding in anger, Damen smiled, a slow, heart-kicking smile that made her legs wobble.

How did he do that when she was annoyed with him?

‘I prefer my women to be discreet in public. It’s a different matter in private, of course.’

Steph searched for a crushing response but he spoke first.

‘How about a compromise? Wear your clothes when you’re alone but when you’re out with me wear something new, which I’ll buy. Yes?’

She wanted to say no. Agreeing would cement his belief that she grasped for every penny she could get. But reason prevailed. She’d look out of place if she stuck to her guns. That would only make her more uncomfortable.

Reluctantly she nodded. ‘Okay. A couple of outfits.’

The shopping expedition didn’t start well.

Steph’s heart sank as the limousine stopped in a street that screamed wealth and exclusivity. Damen gestured to a boutique with a single dress in the window, a dress that even Steph with her limited knowledge knew was a couture original. She swallowed. It was so unlike the chain stores she frequented. Appallingly she felt nervous.

Worse, she felt like a complete fraud.

She was a fraud. She was embarking on a big, fat lie.

She just hoped no one would get hurt as a result. Despite Damen’s assurances she wondered if his female friend truly had no hopes of a permanent relationship. How would she feel when she saw Steph with Damen?

Steph stepped onto the heat of the Athens pavement, telling herself not to be intimidated. Yet a lifetime of scrimping, determined to avoid the financial difficulties that had beset her mother, had its downside. Steph was used to searching for bargains, not dropping a wad of money on the latest fashions.

‘Sorry, Stephanie. I have to take this call.’ Damen looked at his phone. ‘You start and I’ll join you.’

Steph lifted her chin, intensely aware that her dusky pink cotton sundress and flat sandals were out of place here. Memories hovered, of early years when she’d been teased by schoolmates about her ill-fitting clothes, cast-offs her mother had found at a charity shop.

But only for a moment. It had been a long time since she let anyone make her feel uncomfortable because of what she could or couldn’t afford.

Yet her heart sank as she entered the shop with its plush, pale carpet and hushed atmosphere. Even the air smelled different. Expensive. Two saleswomen turned, poised, elegant and wearing polite smiles that dimmed as they took her in.

Her ‘Kalimera’ was greeted with a cool nod from the older woman and a stare from the younger. Stephanie made herself walk further into the store, towards a sparsely populated rack of clothes. She hadn’t reached it when the older saleswoman stepped forward, planting herself before the clothes.

‘Can I help you with something specific?’ She spoke English, clearly pegging her as a foreigner.

Steph told herself she imagined the protective way the woman stood between her and the rack.

‘Thanks. I want a dress, but I prefer to browse.’

After a moment the woman moved aside, hovering too close as Steph examined the clothes.

That was just the beginning. Every time she moved, one of the women shadowed her. When she paused near a display of handbags, all ostentatiously embellished with a well-known couturier’s logo, the younger saleswoman deliberately blocked her path.

Steph’s eyes widened. She’d told herself she was oversensitive but she didn’t imagine this. They thought her a potential shoplifter. Heat filled her cheeks and she was torn between outrage and embarrassment. Outrage won.

She opened her mouth to speak when a deep voice made her turn.

‘Stephanie? Is everything okay?’

Damen stood in the doorway, wide shoulders silhouetted against the sunshine. But there was enough light from the overhead chandelier to see he wasn’t happy. That chiselled jaw was tight and a scowl marred his handsome face.

‘What’s going on here?’ His tone was peremptory, but his ire wasn’t directed at her. Steph watched the saleswomen stiffen and their eyes widen as he surveyed them. It was a look that could freeze at fifty paces.

‘Nothing’s going on,’ Steph said, her voice a little over-loud. There was no way she’d buy clothing here. Her skin crawled at how they’d made her feel. ‘I can’t see anything I want to wear.’

Damen stalked across the room, his gaze now focused on her, and she felt a glow begin deep inside. Long fingers threaded through hers as he stood close and heat spread through her whole body.

‘You’re sure? If there’s something you want…’ He waved towards the handbags.

Instantly the younger saleswoman stepped aside, her smile wide but lacking the smug confidence she’d shown before. ‘This is a very exclusive range.’ Her words tripped over themselves with eagerness. ‘We’re the only stockists in the country and I’m sure madam—’

Steph interrupted. She couldn’t stand that fake friendliness. ‘No, thanks. They’re not my style.’

Damen looked from her to the other women and then to the leather goods. ‘You’re right. They’re too gaudy. You don’t need to wear someone else’s name on your accessories to look good, agapi mou. Leave them for someone who feels the need to buy attention.’

Steph swallowed a gasp that was part giggle as she saw the other woman’s eyes bulge. But it was true. The bags might be the latest must-have fashion but they were little more than advertisements for the designer whose logo was emblazoned on them so prominently.

Damen whisked her outside, not lowering his voice as he promised to take her somewhere with a better selection.

‘You don’t need to hold me so tight,’ she murmured as they marched down the street.

‘Sorry.’ His grip on her arm eased and he slowed. ‘That pair—’

‘Forget them. They’re not worth worrying about. I was about to leave when you arrived. There really was nothing there I wanted.’ She refused to be treated that way.

Nevertheless, she admitted to herself at least, seeing Damen angry on her behalf made her feel good. She didn’t need him to rescue her. She could fend for herself. But his protectiveness, for that was what it had been, warmed her.

Especially since Steph had seen their horror at Damen’s scathing words and dismissive look. It was clear they’d recognised him or at least his air of authority, a man who expected and got the best.

Which set that nervous feeling going again in her stomach. She still had the ordeal of another high-end boutique to face.

But contrary to expectations she fared better in the next shop. It was just as exclusive with its white-on-white minimalism, stylish décor and vast arrangements of lilies scenting the air. But Steph was welcomed by a woman with a sincere smile. Even better, as well as clothes in the pale shades that had featured in the last place, the hangers also held bright colours.

Steph gravitated towards them, her hand lifting towards a fall of shimmering turquoise silk.

‘How about this?’ Damen picked up a dress in chic shades of cream and camel.

Steph’s ‘No, thanks,’ coincided with the saleswoman declaring it was the wrong colour palette for her.

Damen suppressed a smile of satisfaction as Stephanie’s expression lightened when the boutique owner insisted she should wear bold colours. Soon the pair were nodding, murmuring about cut and colour as they pored over the floor stock.

Clearly she’d got over her apparent unwillingness to get a new wardrobe. He’d thought she would.

Yet Damen was curious about their disagreement on the yacht. He’d sensed her protest about new clothes wasn’t just so she didn’t look too eager. As if he really had dented her pride.

He settled in a chair and drew out his phone, skimming messages. But he read none, his attention all on Stephanie.

He’d seen her frozen look of dismay in the last boutique and something inside him had given way. He’d wanted to savage the woman who’d put that expression on her face. As much as he’d wanted to hold and comfort Stephanie.

Except her rigid expression reminded him of the way she’d been with him in Melbourne. After they’d kissed. Her look had made him feel like he’d betrayed her. Despite the bigger picture and his need to help his best friend find his missing wife.

Now he felt like he’d done it again. Hurt her.

Why? Because he’d paid her to play a role? He hadn’t forced her hand. Or because he’d left her alone with those snobby witches down the street?

Stephanie could stand up for herself. She didn’t need him as a champion. Damen remembered Emma saying her friend was strong and independent, that Stephanie had stuck up for her when they’d been kids together.

Yet his conscience prickled. And something else. Something more than guilt.

Whether he was responsible or not, Damen didn’t want to see her look like that again, pale with distress. Her barbs he could cope with. He almost enjoyed them. Her rare smiles ditto. But that frozen look of stunned hurt pierced something behind his ribs.

Fortunately movement from the rear of the boutique distracted him from his churning thoughts. The saleswoman stepped back from the changing room, looking satisfied. She was followed by…

Damen breathed deep and told himself to ignore the strange little jitter that made his pulse uneven.

It was simply Stephanie dressed up. Not in a pretty bridesmaid’s gown. In an outfit designed with one aim. To seduce.

He’d seen his share of seductive women. Had bedded them too. Yet the sight of Stephanie in that clinging outfit sent a blow to the solar plexus that hampered his breathing.

It was a jumpsuit. Was that what you called it? That sounded too prim and old-fashioned for this. She wore silky material that wasn’t red and wasn’t dark pink but somewhere in between. The neckline lifted to a high collar, but her shoulders were completely bare and there was a narrow slit down between her breasts that gave teasing glimpses of her cleavage. A cleavage that seemed unfettered by a bra. The fabric clung to her waist and hips before falling in loose folds to her feet. Feet encased in high-heeled sandals. She looked fabulous. Sophisticated and effortlessly sexy.

Except he knew the high tilt of that chin. He’d learned that pugnacious angle could signal anger or doubt.

Damen got to his feet, his phone falling. ‘You don’t like it?’

She swung around, drawing a breath that made her breasts rise against the thin fabric. Heat stirred low in his body. He kept his eyes on hers and read what looked like concern.

She bit her lip and lifted those slender bare shoulders.

It was ridiculous. Except for her arms and shoulders she was covered to her toes. Yet the sight of that flesh, looking velvety soft against the contrasting material, seemed more enticing than if she’d worn a bikini.

‘I’m not sure.’ Her gaze turned to the full-length mirrors at the back of the room and Damen caught an expression that hovered between wistful and worried.

‘It might have been made for you, madam,’ the saleswoman said. ‘That colour is perfect.’

Still Stephanie looked uncomfortable.

Damen cleared his throat. ‘I like it.’ Too much. Far, far too much. He looked at her in that slinky, flirty outfit and imagined what she’d look like without it. Without anything. ‘You don’t?’

In the mirror Stephanie’s gaze snared his and his throat dried.

‘It’s not me, is it? I mean, it’s beautiful.’ She smoothed her hands down the fabric. ‘But it’s designed for someone more…’

Damen wasn’t used to Stephanie tentative or uncertain. She was forthright to the point of driving him crazy.

‘More what?’ His voice hit a gravelly note as he took in her slightly lost look. ‘It’s a perfect fit.’ Too perfect but he couldn’t complain, for that would be admitting the sight of her in it tied his libido in knots. ‘You look classy and sexy.’

‘I do?’ Her eyes widened.

The saleswoman, after a look at Damen, excused herself and headed back to the changing room.

Damen stared at the sultry figure in the mirror. Two hours ago he’d been annoyed with Stephanie and the way she seemed bent on screwing him for every cent she could. What had happened to his anger?

She hadn’t asked for sympathy. If anything she’d downplayed that scene in the other shop. Yet her nervous expression made him pause, and not just because she looked good enough to eat.

Was it possible Stephanie doubted herself in that outfit? Surely that was impossible. He strode across to stand behind her. ‘What’s the problem? Isn’t it comfortable?’

She shook her head. ‘It feels gorgeous to wear.’ Was that longing in her tone?

Damen stepped in, so close the scent of warm vanilla teased his nostrils. ‘Then we’ll take it.’

‘It’s not too…?’ She made a vague gesture.

‘Too?’ He was tempted to agree that she looked too disturbingly sexy. He didn’t want other men to see her dressed like this. But Damen wasn’t stupid enough to reveal that.

Fascinated, he saw a hint of colour at the base of her throat. Her gaze slid to a point in the mirror near his shoulder. When she spoke the words were clipped. ‘I’ve never worn haute couture. You probably need a certain air to carry it off, to be glamorous and…’ Her words petered out with a shrug. ‘I’m afraid I look like someone playing dress-up, someone who doesn’t belong in such clothes.’

Something tugged at Damen’s chest. His eyes narrowed. Was she serious? Stephanie always seemed so confident.

He saw that flush rise higher. He doubted even the best actress could blush at will.

‘What you look like, Stephanie, is an attractive, desirable woman. The clothes look great on you but that’s window dressing. You looked fabulous in cut-off jeans and bare feet.’ He paused as she swung to face him. Her velvety eyes rounded.

For a long moment she didn’t say anything. Then a smile curled the corners of her mouth and her shadowed expression morphed into one of pleasure. For Damen, standing so close, the impact of her smile was palpable.

‘You made me think my appearance didn’t meet your exacting standards, Mr Nicolaides.’

Damen shook his head, entranced by the way she smiled with her whole face. He wondered what it would be like to have her look at him that way regularly. Damen liked it. Too much.

‘I never said that. I just want you dressed appropriately for the occasion.’

She tilted her head as if trying to read more than his words. Then she nodded once, her manner turning businesslike, that warm glow quenched as if it had never been. ‘Okay. How many outfits do I need?’

Steph was incredibly glad Damen had insisted on new clothes, though she hated the idea of him buying them.

There was something suggestive about a man paying for what she wore. As if he’d bought her too. The idea had made her feel grubby at first, until she saw he was right—she was more comfortable mixing with these well-dressed people wearing what she thought of as her camouflage.

At least she didn’t look like a charity case.

Steph washed her hands and told herself he paid her to play a part but he hadn’t bought her. Even if it felt like it on occasions like this, at his friend’s party in a spectacular house looking over Athens and the coast.

Damen was as good as his promise, never kissing her, but whenever they were together in public each look, each touch, even the slightly deeper tone he adopted when speaking to her, gave the impression they were lovers.

He was so adept at it sometimes she found it hard to remember it was an act.

The first night, at the cocktail party opening of a new museum wing, Steph had been fazed by his faux intimacy, struggling to play her part and respond in kind.

What worried her now, after more than a week, was how easily she’d grown accustomed to it.

Looking away from her accusing eyes in the mirror of the guest bathroom, Steph busied herself reviving her lipstick.

She should be able to take this charade in her stride now. Damen stuck to their agreement and she was gradually getting used to the bustle of Athens as she explored the sights each day, chauffeured by his driver.

Instead her uneasiness grew. Oh, she was having a ball exploring this amazing city. That was an experience she’d carry for the rest of her days. But the more time she spent with Damen the more he undercut her prejudice against him. Yesterday he’d even come home early to drive her to Cape Sounion to watch the sunset. She knew he’d done it so they could be seen together, yet Steph hugged to herself a secret delight that he’d been prompted by her saying she wanted to see the famous temple ruins.

They spent every evening together and he was not only attentive but also considerate, charming and with a vein of dry humour that appealed too much. Just the sort of man she could imagine being attracted to.

He was too good an actor, she told herself, remembering how he’d feigned interest in her before. When he’d tried to milk her for information.

She put the lipstick away and surveyed herself. She wore the boldly coloured outfit she’d tried on that first day. Its fragile silk clung to her breasts and hips and swished around her legs like a caress.

Crazy how for a couple of minutes in the boutique she’d been racked by self-doubt. As if she were still the scrawny kid in second-hand clothes who never fitted in. She’d thought she’d got over that self-consciousness, the fear of being judged and found wanting. Steph had buried that sense of being second-best with years of hard work and achievement. She believed in her ability to build the future she wanted, to be the woman she wanted to be.

Yet as she’d stood there, wearing this stunning outfit only the rich could afford, she’d felt out of her depth. Suddenly it wasn’t just her ability to play this masquerade that she doubted, but herself. Jared’s betrayal, her gullibility in being sucked in by a fraud, losing everything she’d worked for, had smashed her confidence. She’d got the wobbles.

Till Damen’s words and the look in his eyes reassured her. She remembered the swelling warmth unfurling through her at his male appreciation. He’d told her she was desirable and she’d seen proof in his body language and gleaming eyes.

Steph didn’t need a man’s opinion to feel good about herself. Nor did she care for people who’d judge her on how she looked.

Yet she was honest enough to admit that when Damen looked at her with that flare of heat, when she felt as much as saw his smile as he took in her appearance, it did wonderful things for her bruised ego.

That had to be why she didn’t mind those admiring looks from him. Not because she wanted Damen to want her. That would be disastrous. But because it was balm to her wounded soul.

Steph squared her shoulders and opened the door. Music reached her ears, and the hum of voices. She walked down the corridor and into the vast sitting room that could have swallowed her flat several times over.

Knots of people stood chatting and laughing, all elegant, all beautifully dressed. A few, glimpsed through open doors to the next room, danced. Jewels sparkled and the air was rich with expensive scents. But she couldn’t see Damen’s dark head above the rest.

Her host, a pleasantly ordinary man for a billionaire, caught her eye. ‘You’re looking for Damen? He’s on the terrace.’ He smiled. ‘Unless you’d care to dance?’

‘Thank you but no.’ Steph softened her rejection with a smile.

The idea of dancing in these teetering heels terrified her. She loved the way they looked, making her legs seem so much longer, but dancing in them? She’d probably break her ankle and that would be the end of her attempts to be poised and glamorous.

She threaded through the crowd to the huge space where floor-to-ceiling windows were folded back, opening the room to the terrace and gardens.

There were fewer people here but Damen was easy to locate. Steph told herself it was because of his height but she had the disquieting feeling it was more. Even at a crowded event, on the rare occasions they got separated, she always knew precisely where he was. She had the feeling it worked both ways. More than once she’d seen him look up from a conversation, his gaze unerringly catching hers. Steph wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or worried by that.

This time, though, he didn’t notice her. He stood at the far edge of the paved terrace, away from other guests, and his attention was on someone beside him, his head inclined as they spoke.

Steph started forward then paused, taking in the scene. There was something about their body language, how close they stood. They didn’t touch yet it was obvious even from a distance that they shared an intimacy.

Even in the gloom, with her face averted, it was clear Damen’s companion was incredibly beautiful.

She was everything Steph wasn’t. Tall and effortlessly poised, as if she was used to holding her own at sophisticated parties full of celebrities and the ultra-wealthy. Her hair was blonde and straight, worn in one of those apparently casual styles that combined an elegant knot with sexy wisps around her neck. She wore a strapless gown that revealed endless legs. She was stunning.

Gazing at her, Steph was aware of the unfamiliarity of her high heels. Of the unruly mass of curls clustered around her head. She’d planned to get a haircut in Athens, thinking even a gamine cut was preferable to her natural look, but Damen had forestalled her, saying she looked charming.

Sophisticated and gorgeous beat charming hands down.

Steph hated the little corkscrew of hurt as memories surfaced, of being ridiculed about her appearance, because poverty looked different. But that was then and this was now. Steph hadn’t been that girl for a long, long time.

Besides, this wasn’t a competition.

Damen was merely talking to the woman.

Yet their ease together, the way their heads angled as if they were sharing secrets, made Steph wonder if this was the woman he went to so much trouble for. The woman he insisted wasn’t his lover.

Steph began walking, swallowing a bitter taste in her mouth.

Damen’s head turned, eyes fixing on her.

She felt that stare like the scrape of a blade over her bare arms and shoulders, like a hand sliding, slow and deliberate, over the flimsy silk that covered her body. He made her feel supremely aware of her body in a way no other man had. It was scary and exciting at the same time.

And it infuriated her that, even now, when she’d interrupted him with another woman, Steph was ultra-aware of him. Not out of self-defence, but with that trembling feminine awareness he’d stirred in her from the first. The awareness that had allowed him to make a fool of her.

Steph was mortified at how he could unsettle her. Her skin flushed and her insides rippled with nerves. She was like a silly sixteen-year-old facing the object of her first crush.

When she stopped it wasn’t Damen who broke the silence, but the woman who stepped forward with a welcoming smile.