Greek Boss, Dream Proposal

Greek Boss, Dream Proposal

Barbara McMahon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Copyright

Barbara McMahon was born and raised in the South USA, but settled in California after spending a year flying around the world for an international airline. After settling down to raise a family and work for a computer firm, she began writing when her children started school. Now, feeling fortunate in being able to realise a long-held dream of quitting her ‘day job’ and writing full time, she and her husband have moved to the Sierra Nevada mountains of California, where she finds her desire to write is stronger than ever. With the beauty of the mountains visible from her windows, and the pace of life slower than the hectic San Francisco Bay Area where they previously resided, she finds more time than ever to think up stories and characters and share them with others through writing. Barbara loves to hear from readers. You can reach her at PO Box 977, Pioneer, CA 95666-0977, USA. Readers can also contact Barbara at her website: www.barbaramcmahon.com

Dear Reader

Come with me to an adventure in the beautiful land of Greece. It’s long been a place of fascination for me, and I dream about going there one day to soak up the sunshine and beauty of the landscape. To lie on pristine beaches and tour historic sites. Until that time, I use the places I’ve visited around the Med to picture how sailing the Aegean would be, how the breezes would feel and how the dynamic and gorgeous Greek men would look. What would be more fun than to travel the Aegean in a luxury yacht, visit quaint isles for their history, or colourful markets with fabulous bargains? All on the arm of a sexy Greek man, of course. As a vacation locale, could we find a better spot? So, come visit Greece with Sara and Nikos, and be swept away on a mini-holiday that will give you the feel of an exotic land we may all one day see.

Love

Barbara

To Ruth Johnson, with love and friendship. You make being in the NSDAR even more special!

CHAPTER ONE

SARA ANDROPOLOUS leaned over to view the pastry from all angles. It looked perfect. Satisfied, she slid it onto one of the delicate china plates and drizzled a bit of honey on top. Two mint leaves completed the presentation and she smiled. One down, five more to do in less than five minutes.

Working swiftly, she finished the last in less than the allotted time. Perfection.

She’d been on her feet for five hours, yet she felt as fresh as if she’d just started. She loved creating works of art for consumption. Time flew, and she was absorbed in her work to the exclusion of all else.

“See how this pleases your guests,” she murmured in a one-sided imaginary conversation with Nikos Konstantinos.

When Sara had first arrived in Greece four months ago, her temporary assignment at the τραγο´υϖδι αο´ερα, Windsong Hotel, several miles from Thessalonika had seemed like an answer to prayer. She’d been trying to find a way to get a toehold in Greece for so long, it was amazing to her how swiftly things had fallen into place. No one suspected her real intent. The sudden opportunity to move to Greece had been impossible to refuse. She’d left her friends, sublet her flat, and headed for the Aegean with one thought in mind—find a way to make contact with her grandmother, Eleani Konstantinos.

As the yacht gently bobbed on the sea, Sara wondered for the nth time if she were really any closer to her goal. It had seemed meant to be when her friend Stacy had discovered that Sara’s grandmother had remarried and found where she had been living all these years. When Stacy had then told her five months ago about an opening at the exclusive Greek resort owned by the grandson of the man her grandmother had married, Sara had applied instantly for the job. Amazingly, she’d been hired within two weeks of her first interview. Being Greek herself and knowing the language had been a big plus. But she also liked to think her accomplishments had commanded the attention of the interviewer. The lavish salary she was getting indicated they expected no less than outstanding work.

So far things had progressed better than she’d expected. After only four months in Greece, it was nothing short of miraculous that she’d been promoted to temporary chef on Nikos Konstantinos’s luxury yacht. With any luck, at some point, they would put in at the island his family owned—the key to getting to her grandmother. How she was to accomplish the next step was beyond her at the moment. Still, she was closer than ever. Time would present the opportunity she needed.

Stretching her muscles, she placed the desserts on the elegant silver tray and put it on the open area of the counter where the steward would pick it up to deliver to the guests in the main dining salon. It was after nine and she was just about finished for the day. She felt revved up, wide-awake and not at all ready to go to bed, though she’d been up before six every morning to prepare breakfast.

The chef on the yacht Cassandra had become suddenly ill with appendicitis, and she’d been selected to fill the role until he recovered. As the chief chef at the resort had explained when selecting her for the assignment, their boss, resort owner Nikos Konstantinos, had guests expected for a week’s cruise around the Aegean and needed someone versatile enough for all meals and desserts. The chief chef had recommended her even though she was the newest member of the kitchen staff. She still couldn’t believe her luck. At this rate she’d finally meet her grandmother before the month was out!

Her intelligence unit, as she called her friends in London who had rallied round to help her get to Greece once they’d learned of her goal, were certain her mother’s mother was living on the Konstantinos family island in the Aegean. Strategically isolated for privacy, the island offered no way to gain access unless a family member brought guests. Since her letter had been returned unopened, her phone call refused and no e-mail address available, she knew no one would vouch for her. To the contrary, she suspected if she petitioned Nikos Konstantinos directly, he’d have her fired on the spot and erect even stronger barriers between her and her grandmother. She was not going to put that to the test. She’d find a way onto the island on her own.

If she could just meet the woman, maybe she could ignore some of that stiff Greek pride that apparently ran rampant in her mother’s family and tell Eleani Konstantinos about her daughter’s death, and the last words her mother had said—how she wished she could have reconciled with her parents. It had been too late by the time Damaris Andropolous had uttered those words. She had died two days later.

Sara wanted to carry them back, heal a breach that had split the family for almost thirty years. She had been working more than a year to achieve that aim to fulfill the promise she had made to her mother just before she died.

Was the end really in sight?

Looking back, the best thing her mother had ever done was insist Sara learn Greek. Most of their family friends in London had been of Greek descent, a close-knit community of Greek expats who had loved to celebrate special occasions together. Her friend Stacy swore she loved the English lifestyle more than anything, yet she, too, had studied their ancestors’ language. Sara knew her fluency in Greek had landed her this job, she was sure of it. She had had no difficulty in adapting to life at the resort. It was a delightful change from the rainy weather she’d left in London and she’d thrown herself into her job with determination that had obviously paid off.

As she put the pots and bowls she’d used to prepare the evening meal in the sink to soak, Sara thought about how she’d approach her grandmother—if she got the chance. Stacy had been a font of information, relying on the gossip of her own cousins who still lived in Greece. Sara’s grandfather had died several years ago, and Eleani had remarried Spiros Konstantinos, head of the legendary Konstantinos Shipping empire. Sara had scrambled to find out as much information as she could about the family, only to come up with very little.

They obviously used a good deal of the money they made ensuring privacy.

“I’m late. Sorry. Won’t happen again,” Stefano said as he swooped up the tray of desserts. The steward was late at least once a day—and always claiming it wouldn’t happen again. She had gotten used to it and if Nikos Konstantinos didn’t care, she certainly didn’t.

“Looks delicious, as usual. I’ll get it up to the guests.” He talked so fast Sara sometimes had trouble understanding him. She made sure he had all he needed for the guests, then began preparing a tray for the crew.

When Stefano returned, he leaned against the door and let out a long breath. “So the daughter is turning up her charm. I suspect this is a cruise to ensure the lovely Gina Fregulia and Nikos have a chance to get to know each other better. Her father is hinting for marriage, you know. And it doesn’t seem as if Nikos is resisting at all.”

“Now how would you know that?” Sara asked as she worked. She silently urged him to continue. The more she knew about the Konstantinos family, the better able she’d be to deal with them, she thought.

“It’s no secret. The man’s thirty-four years old. Past time to marry and start a family, else who will inherit all the money?”

Sara looked up at that. “You’re thirty-five. Are you married?”

Stefano laughed. “It’s different for me. I get to see beautiful women every day. Sail the Aegean on every cruise. Maybe I will settle down one day. But I don’t have two fortunes to leave when I die.”

“Two?”

“Nikos didn’t follow his father and grandfather into shipping. But he’s still the sole heir after his father. He’s making a small fortune in his own right with the resort and all the collateral businesses. Wish I had some of that money.”

“I’m sure we all do. Actually, we get some by doing our work properly,” Sara said mischievously, smiling at the steward.

“I meant, have it to spend without working. It’ll be interesting to see how the relationship between Miss Fregulia and the boss pans out.”

“Do you think it won’t?” Sara asked, curious. She longed to ask a dozen questions, but didn’t want to give rise to suspicion.

Stefano gave a shrug. “The way I hear it, Nikos loved his first fiancée. I never knew the full story of the breakup, but for a long time, he had the temper of a bear. Arranged marriages are a bit passé for those of us in the regular world, but in the world of huge fortunes, not so uncommon. I think Nikos Konstantinos will marry for the good of the resort, and to provide heirs for the fortunes. The Fregulias are big in wine in Italy. Their fortunes surely match those of Nikos. At least he doesn’t worry about being married for his money. I predict a match made in business.”

“An oracle,” Sara said, finishing the last touch on the desserts for the crew. “I wish them happy.” A happy Nikos meant a more amiable man if she ever had to call on him for access to her grandmother.

“I expect Gina Fregulia will be happy if she gets her hands on Nikos’s millions.”

“Thought you said she was wealthy.”

“Her father is, subtle difference. Nikos will be the prize,” Stefano said.

Sara shook her head. Stefano called their boss by his first name around the staff, but she knew he’d have infinitely more respect when in the presence of Nikos Konstantinos. At least she thought he would. She had yet to meet the man. Didn’t care much one way or another if she ever met him, as long as his yacht docked on the family island at some time while she was still aboard.

“The captain won’t be having dessert. He’s returned to the helm to relieve the mate. This looks nice for the crew,” Stefano said as he lifted the second, less elaborate, tray full of delicious pastries.

“We should have our food as nicely presented as the guests,” Sara said, putting the finishing garnishment on the last plate.

Sara followed Stefano to the aft deck where a table had been set up for the crew to use. Those already seated had left her a place at the end since she didn’t normally join them until dessert. Except for Stefano, the rest of the men were around her mother’s age. They had probably sailed on the Konstantinos yacht for years.

Sara relaxed slightly. Her duties for the day were completed. The gentle breeze that swept by as the yacht plowed through the sea made it most pleasant to be outside. It was a cool relief from the hot kitchen. The stars were growing brilliant against the darkening sky. Only the running lights from the yacht and the illumination spilling from the salon disturbed the velvet darkness.

Once she’d finished eating, she considered relaxing on one of the loungers and just studying the sky. With little ambient light, the stars seemed to multiply. She saw more each night than she’d ever seen in London.

They’d be stopping at anchor soon. The Aegean rocked the boat gently each night. She loved it. Maybe she should consider looking for a permanent berth on some ship once her task had been completed.

“Thank you,” one of the crew said as he rose. “It’s good.”

One by one the others rose and thanked her. Sara was beaming when Stefano left to clean the kitchen. He’d removed all the dishes and utensils, leaving the table bare, except for her glass of water.

One of the men went to sit near the aft rail, gazing out across the sea. The others left, presumably to other tasks or for an early bedtime.

Sara enjoyed the night air for a short time, then went back to the galley to check on preparations for breakfast. Once she had that done, she’d call it a night.

She had been longer on the aft deck than she thought. The galley was gleaming. Stefano had finished and vanished. She would have enjoyed some company in the quiet space while she mentally reviewed the checklist for the ingredients she would need to bake individual quiches for breakfast. She’d make a pan of sweet rolls and cut up fresh fruit. The larder of the galley was bigger than the pantry she had in her flat. The yacht was spacious and outfitted to suit the most discriminating tastes.

Humming as she double-checked everything, Sara was startled when she heard the door open behind her. Turning, she stopped in surprise. No doubt about it, Nikos Konstantinos had come to the galley.

In a land where all men seemed to be handsome, she was momentarily taken aback. Feeling tongue-tied like an idiot schoolgirl, she could only stare for a long moment, feeling every sense come to attention as she gazed at him. He had wavy black hair and a tan that spoke of hours in the Aegean sun. Dark eyes gravely regarded her. He seemed to fill the doorway, his head barely clearing the lintel. He was over six feet, with broad shoulders and a trim physique. The white dinner jacket he wore seemed out of place on a ship, yet suited him to perfection. Bemused, Sara wished her friend Stacy could see how the rich dressed for dinner—even on a private yacht. This man would take the crown for good looks. She felt a frisson of attraction, and the surprise shocked her out of her stupor. He’d think she was an idiot if she didn’t say something.

“Can I help you?” she asked. For a moment she felt a pull like a magnet’s force field, drawing her closer. Looking away for a scant second, she was vaguely pleased to note her feet were still where they had been. She hadn’t made a fool of herself by closing the gap between them.

“You are the chef replacing Paul?” he asked in disbelief.

Sara almost groaned in delight at the husky, sexy tone of his deep voice. She wanted to close her eyes and ask him to recite some lengthy passage just to hear him speak. But Sara Andropolous was made of sterner stuff. Tilting her head slightly, she gave a polite smile, ignoring her racing heart and replied, “I am.”

Be very wary, she warned herself. This man held the key to the Konstantinos family island. She dared not do anything to jeopardize that. But for an instant she forgot all of that as she took in his stunning good looks. The tingling awareness seemed to grow with each tick of the clock.

He narrowed his eyes slightly. “I had not expected a woman so young,” he said softly.

“Age has little to do with accomplishments,” Sara replied, her back up now. What, a woman still in her twenties, though barely, couldn’t be as great a chef as one in her fifties? So much for instant attraction. Reality slapped her in the face. He came from the same world that had ended so cruelly for her mother thirty years ago. What did he know of deprivation, hardship, heartache? Or working one’s butt off to get ahead? She’d fought long and hard to achieve the level she had attained. Age had nothing to do with it. Sheer dog-headed determination and drive had.

While not precisely the enemy, Nikos Konstantinos was, nevertheless, not a friend either.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to imply it was. You caught me by surprise, that’s all. I came to compliment you on tonight’s meal. My guests were most pleased. The lamb almost melted in our mouths.”

Sara was pleased with the compliment and equally surprised her new boss had taken time to come to tell the chef in person.

“I am Nikos Konstantinos,” he said. As if she wouldn’t know.

“I am Sara Andropolous,” she replied. Would he recognize the name from the one letter she’d sent months and months ago? Or had he not been the one to refuse it and have it returned to sender?

“You are finding everything you need?” he asked.

“Yes. The galley is perfect.”

“As are the meals you are preparing. I am pleased.”

She felt a warm glow. She had worked hard to achieve her goals. She would fight tooth and nail to keep her position. But not, it seemed, today. The man she now worked for was satisfied.

“I believe in passing along compliments so people know their work is appreciated,” he commented.

She studied him a moment longer not knowing what to say. He nodded his head once and left.

Nikos Konstantinos had not followed in his father’s and grandfather’s footsteps, but had made his mark in the hotel industry. Since building the Windsong, his impact on Greek tourism had been assured, Sara had been told more than once. The employees of the hotel bragged about its success, and with good reason. The excellent staff had had a lot to do with it, after all. The resort was rumored to have a waiting list of more than a year for a reservation. Guests not staying in the hotel could sail into the wide harbor, rent a slip at the lavish marina and use all amenities of the resort—including dining in one of the six fine restaurants. Those staying at the resort could choose which restaurant in which to dine each evening or arrange for room service to deliver and serve a meal as elegantly on a private terrace or balcony as in any of the five-star restaurants.

She was surprised he was as young as he was to have accomplished all he had. Maybe she should have returned the compliment. But then, he had started with a wealthy family backing him; he had probably leapfrogged over growth pains others had to endure.

She returned to her task. Their backgrounds couldn’t be more different. Sara had been raised without a twopence to spare. Fighting her way above the poverty level, she’d put herself through culinary school by working endless hours in kitchen sculleries to afford the training needed to rise above the level of short-order cook. Perseverance, determination—and yes, even some of that stiff-necked pride from her mother—had pushed her through and to success.

Whereas Nikos had probably merely spent one month’s allowance and had the Windsong built with a snap of his fingers. Nikos, she thought, like they were friends or something. Mr. Konstantinos, she corrected herself silently. If his guests continued to be pleased, he would be, as well. Which meant he’d keep her on board longer. Fingers crossed it was long enough to visit the family island.

Heading for her tiny cabin a short time later, Sara grew optimistic. She’d met the owner and he was satisfied with her work. Surely that meant things were still looking up for her plan.

Sara knew she’d been unbelievably fortunate that the chief chef had recommended her for this cushy spot. There were five other crew members in addition to herself. With the guests and Nikos, that made twelve. Nothing like the number of dishes she had to prepare in one of the resort kitchens each evening.

Her first sight of the yacht had inspired a touch of awe. It was beautiful—sleek, gleaming white and riding with a high bow off the water. The main body looked to be longer than her apartment in London and the aft deck could have easily hosted a party for fifty. That’s where she and the other crew could spend off hours. At least the owner was generous with his staff.

Sara frowned. She wasn’t sure she wanted to list admirable attributes. Nikos Konstantinos might be one of the sexiest men she’d ever met, but he was no more than a means to an end for her. She had better not forget that. Besides, Stefano had said this was almost an engagement cruise—a chance for Nikos to decide whether to marry the daughter of a business associate. Sounded cold to her. It also mirrored the same circumstances her mother had been in years ago—an arranged marriage. At least this time it sounded as if the prospective participants were not averse to the plan.

She was astonished to find herself attracted to the man. For a second she had almost forgotten what she was doing and been tempted to flirt. A handsome man, a lonely woman, the perfect romantic setting.

How dumb would that have been?

CHAPTER TWO

NIKOS left the galley to return to the suite that served as both office and bedroom when on board. His chef had been a surprise. Her dark wavy hair had been tied back, with tendrils escaping to frame her face. Her large brown eyes had revealed a wariness that had surprised him. He was used to the awe in which some held him. This was somehow different. Yet her manner had been professional. He’d detected a note of annoyance with the comment about her age. Nikos almost smiled. Touchy—weren’t all great chefs? Though the only ones he’d ever met before had been male. A female chef was a novelty. At least she had not instantly tried to flirt and garner more interest.

He had grown weary of the flirtatious ways of the women he met. If he thought a single one would be interested in him if he had not a dime to spare, he might feel differently. But he’d learned early on that most women wanted one thing—to live a life of luxury—preferably off the proceeds of a susceptible male. His own aborted engagement proved that.

It was as if life were a lottery and he one of the prizes. Nikos did not like to consider himself conceited, but maybe he had grown so with the attention of so many lovely women over the past ten years.

He found Sara’s totally professional attitude refreshing. What would it be like to have people judge him on his own merits? To have a friend who wanted nothing but him as he was?