Greek Mavericks: His Christmas Conquest

Theo narrowed his eyes on her, shut the door of the fridge and sat at the pine kitchen table. Her face was perfectly still and courteous but was there some insolent implication in her words that pointed to him being a drunk?

For the first time in as long as he could recall, the demonic thoughts that plagued him night and day disappeared under his sheer annoyance at the creature standing unapologetically in front of him.

‘Well, maybe you would like to sort something out for me now. Wine. White. Preferably a Chablis. You can tack the cost of it on to my bill at the end of the month and throw in extra for inconvenience caused.’

‘Of course, Mr Andreou, although I really need to be getting back home now. Would it be possible for you to wait for your wine until tomorrow? I could send Annie along with a selection of whites for you.’

‘Possible, but not desirable. I’ve had a long and tiring journey here and a glass of chilled wine is really what I’d like.’

He had no idea why he was pushing the point. He had done a certain number of reckless things since Elena’s accident but drowning his sorrows in drink hadn’t been one of them. In fact, he had avoided alcohol for the most part. Looking at Sophie’s ramrod figure, however, he could only think that her simmering anger at his high-handed attitude made a pleasant change from the soft shuffle of people tiptoeing around him just in case they said the wrong thing.

‘Right. Would there be anything else?’

‘Just the wine.’

Sophie nodded and headed out of the door. Theo was frankly surprised that she didn’t slam it shut behind her, but then again, if the house belonged to her she would have no choice but to pander to her tenant. A tenant who was paying top whack even though the high season was emphatically over.

It was all of fifteen minutes before Sophie returned, the cool night air having done very little to improve her frame of mind.

Yes, he might be a writer, and writers were notoriously moody and temperamental, but that was no excuse to be downright rude. Maybe, she fumed, clutching the bag containing two bottles of wine, because clearly he bordered on alcoholic if he couldn’t keep away from the stuff for a few hours, he thought that his looks gave him some kind of imperious right to do away with the need to be considerate.

She toyed with the seductive scenario of telling him that he could find somewhere else to stay, that she would rather have no tenant than a tenant like him.

Common sense plastered a polite smile back on to her face as the door was opened and she felt as taken aback by his physical appearance as she had the first time round.

‘The wine.’ She held out the carrier bag and kept well behind the threshold.

‘Join me.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘For a drink. By way of apology for my arrogant behaviour.’ Theo directed a smile at her that made her blink in sudden confusion.

It was a smile he had not used for a long time. For years, an ever changing assortment of beautiful women had been the object of his massive charm. Then he had met Elena, quite accidentally at his mother’s house on one of his quick stop overs. The stop over had lasted ten days longer than he had originally planned and, at the end of it, he had left an engaged man, smitten with the young golden-haired girl who had agreed to be his wife. Five months later Elena had been killed and with her his dreams of marriage and family. Since then, and despite the women who still flocked around him, Theo had remained steadfastly and bitterly celibate. The easy charm that had seen him fêted as the most eligible bachelor in London, the biggest catch in the sea, had been locked away behind a forbidding coldness that could deter even the most persistent.

He realised that he must be feeling ridiculously uneasy with his surroundings to have encouraged the woman to stay. Especially when she was now staring at him like a wild animal caught in a trap with no visible means of escape.

‘I’m not sure that would be entirely appropriate, Mr Andreou…’

‘Why not?’ He headed towards the kitchen, eschewing the walking stick but taking it slowly. Despite what the doctors had said, putting pressure on the foot had seemed to encourage a healthy immunity to the pain and discomfort. A day spent sitting in a car had now made him realise how tender it still was and he scowled at the limitations of a body that had never in his life let him down before.

Sophie closed the door quietly behind her and counted to ten. She reminded herself that she had to be polite. As the odious man had pointed out, he was paying her bills.

‘Aren’t you tired?’ She followed him into the kitchen and avoided his question by going down a different route. Watching from the kitchen door, he didn’t look tired. In fact, he didn’t strike her as the sort of man who ever succumbed to something as routine as exhaustion, but he wasn’t walking properly. ‘I know that trip down from London can be a killer, especially when there’s traffic around. Although I guess you travelled down by train. I didn’t notice any car parked outside.’

‘Big house for one person, or were you living here with someone else?’

Sophie drew in a deep breath and kept trying to smile. ‘Big house for a single man to rent, or are you intending to bring down someone else to keep you company?’

Theo turned and looked at her, one hand on the bottle, the other slowly drawing out the cork. His impression of her was deteriorating by the second. Added to the unacceptable insolence, he could sense simmering just beneath the surface a stubbornness that was only thinly disguised by the stiff smile on her face.

‘I mean…’ Sophie continued hastily, stepping into the kitchen and sitting down at the table, the old, worn pine table that had seen a thousand meals and school books and, later on, art work and designs ‘…Cornwall is very popular with families…Do you have a family, Mr Andreou?’

Theo yanked out the cork and poured two glasses of wine.

‘There is no need to call me Mr Andreou. The name is Theo.’ He placed a glass in front of her and was relieved to sit down and give his foot a rest.

‘And will you be bringing your family down at some point, Mr And…Theo? Or do you prefer to have solitude for your writing?’ Sophie sipped the wine and decided that she had made a good choice. She didn’t know too much about it, but obviously going for the most expensive bottle in the off licence had been a good idea.

‘I beg your pardon?’ About to deliver a short, sharp sermon on which subject she would do well to avoid, Theo was caught on the back foot by her remark. Did the woman seriously imagine that any single man renting a cottage by the sea was automatically a writer?

‘I asked whether you planned on bringing…’

‘I have no family, Miss Scott.’

‘Right.’

‘You were asking about…my writing…?’

‘Yes. I just wondered whether you rented the cottage because you needed to be on your own to write.’ She took another gulp of the wine. Meeting the man’s gaze was next to impossible. Those fabulous eyes were doing weird things to her.

‘And you think I am a writer because…?’

‘Because Johnny told me. I’m sorry. I realise that it’s none of my business. Actually, I should be on my way.’ She half stood up.

‘Sit back down!’

Sophie literally jumped at the command and glared at him. ‘Shouldn’t writers be a bit more sensitive?’ she snapped. Politeness flew out of the window as did the last residue of her patience. ‘Shouting at people is no way to behave, Mr Andreou! And, I tell you this right now—if you intend to act in that manner, then I shall have no option but to withdraw the services of Catherine and Annie. They’re both sweet-tempered girls and I won’t have you yelling at them!’

It was one of those extremely rare moments in Theo’s life when he was literally lost for words.

He was a man who had become accustomed to saying exactly what he wanted and to having his orders followed. Indeed, there was rarely any need for him to even raise his voice. He spoke and others obeyed. It was as simple as that.

He looked at her rising colour and knew that the best thing he could do would be to tell her to go. She was too abrasive, too outspoken, and a personality clash was the last thing he either needed or felt inclined to deal with.

‘You haven’t finished your wine, Miss Scott,’ he countered mildly. ‘Why don’t you finish it and tell me who this Johnny character is? I don’t approve of having my personal life discussed behind my back. Gossip is something I have little time for.’

Sophie clasped the edge of the table and breathed deeply. How many times could one person count to ten before it lost its value as a calming mechanism? How dared he imply that she was a gossip?

She sat back down as calmly as she could manage. ‘I don’t gossip, Mr Andreou.’

‘Theo. I told you.’

Sophie ignored the interruption. ‘John Taylor is the man at the estate agency who arranged this letting. Apparently the lady working on your behalf informed him that you would be here to do a bit of writing. He thought it useful to let me know because he knew that I was reluctant…Well, let’s just say that it was important for me to know that you weren’t going to be the sort of tenant to wreck the house. There have been a few incidents here over the years where houses have been let to people in the movie industry and damage has been caused by wild parties and the like. So we weren’t gossiping about you. It was an exchange of factual information.’

Theo smiled at the thought of Gloria protecting his identity. But writer? He wondered what sort of books he would be interested in writing.

‘What sort of books do you write?’

‘Ah. Thrillers, as a matter of fact.’

Sophie felt curiosity reluctantly creep under her skin. ‘What sort of thrillers? You must write under a pseudonym…’

‘Perhaps thrillers isn’t quite the right description for my…ah…books…’ Theo said. As conversations went, it was bizarre but strangely liberating not to be typecast as the formidable and extremely powerful businessman deserving of the greatest respect, if not downright fear. ‘More factual accounts of people who have been in life-threatening situations. Right now I am working on something to do with black runs.’

Sophie could make sense of that. The man exuded an air of danger. It seemed fitting that he would write about lives lived on the edge.

‘Must be very exciting for you—making a living doing what you love—writing about the things that interest you. Much more stimulating than some boring office job somewhere in the city!’ She thought of the boring office job which she had been compelled to take. Her father might have been interested in all manner of medical things but his passion for invention had turned out to be more than an amusing hobby to keep his brain ticking over. He had, it turned out in the messy wake of his death, poured money into his obsession with creating any manner of things, helped struggling scientists and inventors and literally travelled the breadth and width of the country over the years, going to various science shows and turning small overnight trips into week-long stops. And spending money with the absent-minded innocence of someone quite clueless when it came to all things financial. Leaving her here now, doing her best to clear things up.

She dragged herself away from the depressing thoughts and looked at Theo from under her lashes.

‘Would I have read any of your books? I mean, what name do you write under? How far have you got on the one you’re working on?’

‘I really would rather not discuss my writing.’ Theo poured himself another glass of wine and relaxed back in the chair. ‘Tell me about the village. I shall probably have to venture into it at some point.’

Putting her in her place. That was the impression that Sophie got. In not so many words, he was telling her to mind her own business and, for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why he would be so secretive about what he did for a living. Shouldn’t he be promoting his books? After all, she was a member of the public and it was a buying public who kept him in this lifestyle.

And a very good lifestyle, considering the amount he was paying for the use of her cottage, not to mention the housekeeper and the cook. She glanced at him, to find that he was looking at her with a cool shuttered expression, almost as though he was waiting for her to digest the conversational boundaries he was laying down.

Nothing personal, in fact. And his remark about gossiping had been a warning that she should steer clear of talking about him behind his back. Maybe he thought that, simple peasant lass that she was, the only thing that preoccupied her would be shooting her mouth off about the mysterious handsome stranger in the cottage.

She returned his cool expression with one of her own and began telling him about the basic shops in the village and where he could go if he wanted to explore further afield. As she spoke, she began getting to her feet and tightening her jacket around her, noticing that he was not bothering to stand up. In fact, he dragged over a chair and propped his feet up on it. Sophie resisted the urge to tell him to remove them.

‘And do you live in this exciting little village?’

‘Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.’

‘And how do you amuse yourself in the evenings?’ He fleetingly wondered whether she had a boyfriend or not and decided that she probably didn’t. What man could ever be attracted to a woman with such a sharp tongue? Elena, he thought painfully, had been angelically soft spoken. He snapped out of his thoughts to hear the tail-end of a sentence and registered that whatever had been said had been yet another example of unladylike sarcasm. He could tell from the badly concealed aggression of her stance. Hand on hip. Fist curled tightly around the strap of her bag.

‘What did you say?’

‘You asked me how I amused myself in this exciting little village.’ She could tell that his thoughts had been miles away, probably on a ski slope with some cutting edge daredevil, the likes of whom would never darken her exciting little village. The man who had invaded her cottage now saw fit to sneer at the lifestyle it represented! ‘Mostly we just sit around in the local, wearing our cloth caps, with twigs in our mouths, knocking back the ale.’

‘I think it’s time for you to leave now,’ Theo told her coldly. ‘Thank you for the wine and don’t forget to put it on my bill.’

Sophie could have kicked herself. She knew she should, but she just couldn’t bring herself to issue another apology. For starters, he would recognise it for the meaningless words that they were because she didn’t feel very apologetic. The man was arrogant and unbearable. Fat, short, oily and middle-aged would have been infinitely preferable. Instead, she nodded and mouthed some nonsense about feeling free to call her any time if he had any complaints whatsoever. Ironic when his complaints would probably be about her and her attitude.

‘I hope you enjoy your stay,’ she managed to get out, along with a forced smile.

Torn between the need to dither and at least put on a show of being a thoughtful landlady and the desire to walk out as fast as her legs could take her, Sophie remained where she was until Theo walked to the fridge and, with his back to her, left her in no doubt that she could go. She did. Fuming and red-faced and consoling herself with the thought that his fat cheque would be worth the headache of knowing he was in her space.

Chilled by the night air, she finally managed to gather her scattered thoughts and reach a decision—she would leave him to his own devices, get Annie and Catherine to report back to her about the state of the house and count the weeks till he disappeared back up to London.

Chapter Two

ARE you sure you are following the doctor’s orders and resting? Does your foot feel any better? Yes, we’re managing just fine here. Of course I’ll sort out those conference calls, but are you quite sure you shouldn’t just be resting?

At the end of four interminably long days and even longer nights, Theo could feel his head clanging with the repeated urges from the entire world, it seemed, that he relax. He had been assured by Gloria so many times that it was business as usual that he had been forced to cut her short on a couple of occasions rather than sit through the inevitable ramblings about his need to take it easy.

Taking it easy had never been one of Theo’s greatest talents and he was finding it exceptionally difficult to adhere to now.

It was mid-afternoon. The house had been cleaned so thoroughly that any lingering bacteria would have had a struggle to stage a comeback. He had eaten the pasta which the cook had prepared and his conference call had ended over an hour ago.

Outside, a cold breeze was threatening to turn into a gale. Even through the small window panes, he could appreciate the wildness of the scenery. It occurred to him that, apart from a couple of visits to the garden, he hadn’t been outside the house for days. Not since that aggravating woman had left, in fact.

For once, the image of a woman other than Elena crossed his mind. The slight frame that should have heralded a demure personality but didn’t. The stubborn mouth which looked as though it had been having a hard time trying not to rebel against the smile she had pasted on. The flashing brown eyes, narrowed to suspicious slits and ready to glare.

He felt a reluctant smile curve his mouth.

It disappeared as swiftly as it had surfaced. Uttering an oath under his breath, Theo slammed shut his computer, shoved his cellphone into his pocket and headed out of the cottage with his thick jacket slung over his shoulders.

It was as cold outside as it had looked. And as scenic. Having been to places in the world most people had only ever dreamed of, Theo wondered how it was that he seemed to be seeing what was around him for the first time. The downside of zero distractions, he assumed, considering the majority of his visits to exotic places had taken place under the mantle of work.

Out the cottage, the small lane towards the village was lined with a selection of shrubbery, stripped at this time of year of its greenery and jostling for space. And the clean, salty smell of the air was pungent enough to make him gasp.

The routine of exercise he had been sticking to made use of the stick less necessary but he had brought it along with him anyway. Every so often, he swiped some of the shrubbery at the side and scowled impatiently at the sneaky feeling of boyishness it gave him.

The first thing he glimpsed as he turned the corner was her office.

There it was, fronted by lovingly cared for plants on the outside and resembling not so much an office as somewhere casual in which to relax.

He thought it typical. Her behaviour towards him had not marked her out as a professional woman with her finger on the pulse. Any competent career woman would know that to expose her feelings was tantamount to waving the white flag.

Feet that should have been walking to the café next to the office paused and, before he knew it, he was rapping his stick on the office door, pushing it open into a scene of seeming chaos. In the middle of this chaos, Sophie stood with one hand raked through her fair hair in frustration, peering and frowning at a piece of paper in her hand. Around her, three people appeared to be doing things, though what Theo couldn’t begin to fathom. Two women and a fair-haired man, who looked at him and smiled with good-natured curiosity.

He was already regretting the insane impulse that had prompted his appearance.

He must, he thought sourly, be in need of company even though he had never considered himself the sort of man who craved the presence of other people, especially in the last few months when memories had been the only things to share the space in his head.

‘Soph, you have a visitor.’

From across the room, Sophie glanced up, plucked out of her little world of trying to figure out what the heck this latest scribbled piece of paper was supposed to signify. Another bill? Of sorts? Something that had been returned for a credit that would not be chanced upon any time soon?

It was only when her eyes tangled with Theo’s that she realised how much she had been thinking about him—off and on for four days—and even though she felt nettled every single time he had crossed her mind, she still hadn’t been able to erase the image from her head.

Her skin tingled in sudden awareness of his eyes on her and the impossibly sexy slant of his body as he lounged indolently against the doorframe, taking in the scene in front of him.

‘Oh. It’s you.’ She looked around and introduced him indifferently to Moira, Claire and, of course, Robert. ‘This is Mr Andreou, the man from the cottage. How can I help you?’ Her feet suddenly felt like lead and she translated the heat racing through her body as an angry reaction to the fact that, not content with living in her cottage, he was now invading the privacy of her working space.

She reluctantly walked towards him, aware that all eyes were on her.

‘I was just out for a walk and I thought I’d drop in.’

‘How did you know where I worked?’

‘Saw you here when I arrived, as a matter of fact. You were locking up behind you.’

‘There was no need for you to come here, Mr Andreou…’

‘When do you intend to start calling me Theo?’ he asked, suddenly irritated.

‘Theo. I wrote down my telephone number and left it by the phone book on the table in the hall. I believe I told you that.’

‘So this is where you work…’ He pushed himself away from the doorframe and was confronted by Robert, who offered his hand by way of a more formal introduction.

‘The name’s Robert Bell. Your face looks familiar. Have I met you somewhere before?’

‘No,’ Theo said flatly, ignoring the outstretched hand and moving towards one of the desks on which he perched, while Sophie looked on, mouth agape at the sheer nerve of the man.

‘You probably recognise him from the cover of a book somewhere. Theo’s a writer.’

‘In the presence of fame,’ Robert remarked, grinning. ‘Aren’t you lucky, Soph? You can take his picture and build up a wall of fame over the years! Do wonders for the rental income, you know.’ He moved to sling one arm over Sophie’s shoulder and she eased herself away and towards Theo, now idly rifling through the reams of disorganised paperwork on her desk.

‘You never said what you wanted. Is everything all right with the cottage? Are Catherine and Annie working out okay?’ She snatched the papers from him and dumped them back on the desk.

He had, she noticed abstractedly, great hands. Strong, with long fingers and sufficient dark hair curling at the strap of his watch to make her wonder whether he had hair on his chest or not. She caught herself midway through the treacherous uninvited thought and frowned at him.

‘Fine. The house is beyond clean and the food is beyond good.’

‘Then why are you here?’ Sophie asked bluntly. ‘I have an awful lot of work to get through and I really can’t spare the time for chit-chat.’

Theo looked around him. ‘You do seem to be a bit…overwhelmed here…’

‘Not overwhelmed, just…’

‘Trying to impose order on chaos…’ Robert approached them and clicked his tongue in good-natured reprimand at Sophie. ‘Sophie has inherited all this from her father and…’

‘Do you mind, Robert? I’m sure Mr…Theo…isn’t interested in all of that!’ She tempered the sharpness of her reply with an apologetic smile and gave his arm a brief warm squeeze. All said and done, Robert had been her rock in recent months, sacrificing quite a bit of his free time to help her out, taking her out for the odd pizza when she had been feeling particularly down, always looking on the bright side of things. Yes, they went back a few years, but there was no way that she was going to take him for granted!