Irresistible Greeks: Unsuitable and Unforgettable: At His Majesty's Request / The Fallen Greek Bride / Forgiven but not Forgotten?

CHAPTER TWO

“ARE you finding the accommodations to your satisfaction, Ms. Carter?”

Jessica whirled around, her heart thudding against her breastbone. Stavros was standing in the hallway of her hotel, a small smile on his face. “I … Yes, very. I didn’t expect to see you here. Today. Or ever.”

He looked around them, as though checking to see if he was in the right place. “This is one of my hotels.”

“Yes, I know, but I assumed …”

“You assumed that I had no real part in the running of my hotels, casinos, et cetera. But I do. In another life I might have been a businessman.” His tone took on a strange, hard tinge. “As it is, I divide my time between being a prince and running a corporation. Both are equally important.”

She tried to smile and took a step back. “So, to borrow a phrase … of all the hotels you own, on all the island, you walk into mine?”

His sensual lips curved upward. It was hard to call it a smile. “Oh, this was calculated, but I also had a business reason for coming by.”

Her stomach fluttered. Down, girl. What was wrong with her? A man hadn’t made a blip on her personal radar for a long, long time. And Stavros was a client.

Anyway, she wasn’t quite through licking her wounds.

The loss of her five-year marriage, and the circumstances surrounding it, had left her feeling far too bruised to jump back into dating. Which had been fine. She’d left her job, poured everything into starting her own company and perfecting her system of matchmaking.

Those who can’t do, teach, those who can’t find a match, match others.

That wasn’t true. She could find a match. Had found one, back when she’d believed in falling in love accidentally with the aid of some sort of magic that might make it stick. As if it were so simple.

And then life had taken her dreams, her hopes, her beliefs and feelings, and it had jumbled them all together until the wreckage was impossible to sift through.

Until it had been much easier to simply walk out of the room and close the door on the mess, than to try and find some sort of order again.

But her ex-husband had no business wiggling into her thoughts. Not now. Not ever, really. That was over. She’d changed.

Her job had always seemed important. At first, being a matchmaker had been all about indulging her romantic streak. She’d been in love with love. With the mystical quality she’d imagined it possessed.

She knew differently now. Knew that relationships were about more than a flutter in your stomach. Now her job seemed essential in new ways. To prove to herself that it could still be real. That people could get married and stay married.

It was almost funny. She created successful relationships, successful marriages. And she went to bed alone every night and tried not to dwell on her broken one.

She’d had mixed success with that. But she’d had phenomenal success with her business. And that was what she chose to focus on.

“All right, what was your reason?” she asked, taking another step back.

“First off, I had to speak to my manager about handling all of the incoming guests for Mak and Eva’s wedding. One of my gifts to them. Putting Mak’s family up in the hotel. He could do it himself, and he’s argued with me about it no end, but I’m insistent.”

“And you do get your way, don’t you?” she asked. She had a feeling he never heard the word no. That if a command was issued from his royal lips everyone in the vicinity hopped to obey him. It wasn’t that he had the manner of a tyrant, but that he had such a presence, a charisma about him. People would do whatever it took to be in his sphere. To get a look from him, a smile.

He was dangerous.

“Always.” The liquid heat in his eyes poured into her, his husky smooth tone making her entire body feel like it was melting. She was pretty sure she was blushing.

Oh, yeah, dangerous didn’t even begin to cover it.

She cleared her throat, “And the other thing?”

“I came to get you. If you’re going to be aiding me in the selection of my future bride, you need to understand me. And in order to do that, you need to understand my country.”

“I’ve done plenty of research on Kyonos and …”

“No. You need to see my country. As I see it.”

She really didn’t relish the idea of spending more time with him. Because it wasn’t really her practice to buddy up to a client, though, knowing them was essential. But mostly because, between yesterday and today, the strange fluttery feeling in her stomach hadn’t gone away. The one that seemed to be caused by Stavros’s presence.

“Are you offering me a tour?” She should say no. Say she had paperwork. Something.

“Something like that.”

“All right.” She wasn’t quite sure how the agreement slipped out, but it had.

Well, it was best to agree with the one who was signing one’s very large check when all was said and done with the marriage business. Yes. Yes, it was the done thing. So she really had no choice but to spend all day in his presence. No choice at all.

“Great. Do you need to get anything?”

“I was ready to go and have some lunch, so I think I’m all set.” Her cherry-red pumps weren’t the best choice for walking, but she’d packed some black ballet flats in her bag for emergencies. And anyway, they were amazing shoes and worth a little discomfort.

His eyes swept her up and down, a lift in his brow.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“What?” she repeated.

He turned and started walking down the hall and she clacked after him. “Why did you look at me like that?” she asked.

“Do you always dress like this?”

She looked down at her dress. White with black polka dots, a red, patent leather belt at the waist. It was one of her favorites, especially with the shoes and her bright red bag. “Like what?”

“Like you just stepped off the set of a black-and-white film.”

“Oh. Yes. I like vintage. It’s a hobby of mine.” One her new financial injection allowed her to indulge in in a very serious way. Her bed might be empty, but her closet was full.

“How do clothes become a … hobby?”

“Because you can’t just buy clothes like this. Well, you can, but they’re reproductions. Which is fine, and I have my share, but to actually get a hold of real vintage stuff is like a game sometimes. I haunt online auctions, charity shops, yard sales. Then there’s having them altered.”

“Sounds like a lot of trouble for secondhand clothes.”

“Possibly fourth-or fifthhand clothes,” she said cheerfully. “But I love the history of it. Plus, they just don’t make dresses like this anymore.”

“No, indeed they don’t.”

She gritted her teeth. “I don’t care if you don’t like them. I do.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t.”

“Oh, the implication was all there.”

He paused, then looked hard at her, his expression scrutinizing. “You know I’m royalty, yes?”

She nodded once. “Yes.”

“And yet you still speak to me like this?”

She frowned, a slow trickle of horror filtering through her stomach. She wasn’t backing down now, though—pride prevented it. “Sorry, my mouth gets away from me. Sometimes I need someone to restrain me.”

He chuckled. “Ms. Carter, you have no idea how interesting that sounds.”

Oh, but she did. Especially with the wicked grin crossing his lips. And it had been a very, very long time since she’d been with a man.

Longer since she’d missed it. Longer still since she’d enjoyed it.

“Jessica,” she said, her dry throat keeping her from speaking in a voice that transcended a croak. “Just call me Jessica.” Because for some reason when he called her Ms. Carter in that sexy, sinful voice of his, that Greek accent adding an irresistible flavor, she pictured him calling her that in bed. And that was just naughty. Naughty and completely out of the blue.

She wasn’t interested in sex. Not the responsibility of it, not the repercussions of it. And not the pain that resulted from it.

“Jessica,” he said, slowly, like he was tasting it.

Well, that didn’t help, either.

“Prince Stavros?”

“Stavros. Please.”

Her heart pattered, a sort of irregular beat, like it had tripped. “I don’t assume you’re in the habit of asking commoners to call you by your first name?”

He shrugged. “Titles are fine. In many regards, they are necessary as they establish one’s place in society. I like them for negotiation, for the media. I don’t really like them in conversation.”

“All right then,” she said, “Stavros.” She put a lot of effort into the name, taking her time to savor the syllables, as he’d done to hers. She saw a flicker of heat in his dark eyes and fought to ignore an answering flame that ignited in her stomach.

“We’ll start here,” he said, indicating the halls of the hotel as he began to walk ahead. “This hotel, and many others like it, have been essential to my country. After the death of my mother, my father started neglecting the tourism industry. He neglected a great many things. I was fourteen at the time. My brother, the heir to the throne, was sixteen. He left a few years after that. It became clear that Xander was gone, and that we could not count on him to see to his duties.” Stavros didn’t bother to hide the hint of bitterness in his voice. “That started rumors of civil unrest. And of course tourists don’t want to be somewhere that could possibly be dangerous. As soon as I was able I did what I could to start a revival of the tourism industry. I went abroad for college, established contacts. I studied business, hospitality, economics. Whatever I thought might be helpful in getting my country back to where it needed to be.”

“You turned Kyonos into a business.”

“Essentially. But not for my own gain. For the gain of my people.”

“True,” she said, “but by all accounts you have gained quite a bit.”

“I have. I won’t lie. My own bank account is healthy, in part due to the fact that, at this point, the interest it’s collecting on a yearly basis is more than most people will see in a lifetime.” He turned to look at her. “Do you need my estimated net worth for your records so you can pass it on to the women you’re considering for me?”

“What? Oh, no. I think they’ll feel secure enough in your … assets. I doubt they’ll need anything so crass as actual net worth. A ballpark figure will do.”

“You’re very honest.”

“Yes, well.” She took in a deep breath and tried to ignore the tightening in her stomach. “Hiding from reality doesn’t fix anything.”

“No. It doesn’t,” he said.

She could tell, from the icy tone in his voice, the depth to each word, that he was speaking from experience. Just like her.

Interesting that she could fly halfway across the world and meet a prince who seemed to have more common ground with her than anyone in her real life did.

She had friends, at least, the ones Gil hadn’t gotten custody of after the divorce. But they were still married. They had children.

A hollow ache filled the empty space where her womb had been. The same one that had plagued her so many times before. When she saw babies. Small children on swings.

Women wiping chocolate stains off of their blouses. And sometimes, it happened for no reason at all. Like now.

“No, reality’s one bitch that’s pretty hard to ignore,” she said.

He chuckled, dark and without humor. “A very true statement. That’s why being proactive is important. Sometimes you get problems you didn’t make or ask for, but hiding doesn’t fix them.”

They stopped in front of an elevator and Stavros pushed the button. The gold doors slid open and they stepped inside. The trip down to the lobby was quick, and they breezed through the opulent room quickly, making their way to the front.

There was a limousine waiting for them, black and shiny. Formal. It didn’t fit with what she’d seen of Stavros so far. He didn’t seem like the type of man who would choose to ride in something so traditional.

He seemed to lurk around the edges of traditional, doing everything a man of his station must do, while keeping one toe firmly over the line of disreputable. It ought to make him obnoxious. It ought to make him less attractive. It didn’t.

He opened the door for her and they both slid inside. She sighed, grateful for the air-conditioning. Kyonos was beautiful, but if the breeze from the sea wasn’t moving inland it could be hotter than blazes for a girl from North Dakota.

As soon as they settled in and the limo was on the road, she turned to him. “So, why a limo?”

“It’s how things are done,” he said. He pushed on a panel and it popped open, revealing two bottles of beer on ice. “More or less.”

She laughed and held her hand out. “You’re about fifteen degrees off unexpected, aren’t you?”

He chuckled and handed her a bottle. “Am I?”

“Yes. Hiring a matchmaker to find you a wife and drinking beer in a limo. I’d say you’re not exactly what people expect in a prince.”

“There are protocols that must be observed, responsibilities that must handled. But there are other things that have a bit more leeway.”

“And you take it.”

He shrugged. “You have to take hold to the pleasures in life, right?”

“If by pleasures, you mean shoes, then yes.”

He laughed and took a bottle opener from a hook on the door and extended his hand, popping the top on the bottle for her. “A true gentleman,” she said. “And clearly a professional. Get a lot of practice in college?”

“Like most people.”

“Where did you go to school?”

“I did two years in the U.K., two in the U.S.”

She nodded. “You would be best suited to a woman who’s well traveled, who understands a variety of cultures. Probably someone multilingual.”

“Because I’m clearly so cultured?” he asked, raising his bottle. He relaxed his posture, his arm over draped over the back of his seat. There was something so inviting about the pose. The perfect spot for a partner to sit and snuggle against him …

She blinked. “Well, yes, you have to be able to communicate with your spouse. Connect with them on a cerebral level.”

“Most of the women I’ve dated have only connected with me on one level, but it’s a level I’ve found to be very important.” The suggestive tone of his voice left no doubt as to just what level he was referring to.

She cleared her throat and tried to banish the heat in her cheeks. For heaven’s sake. Talking about sex was normal in her job. It was part of the job, because it was part of relationships. It never made her … blush. She was actually blushing. Really and truly. Like a schoolgirl. Ridiculous.

After enough invasive doctor visits for three lifetimes she thought she’d lost the ability to do that years ago.

“And I consider that important, too,” she said, knowing she sounded stiff and a little bit prudish, and she absolutely wasn’t either thing, so she had no idea why. “But you will be expected to see each other outside of the bedroom.”

“Of course,” he said. “But as I said, I have my priorities. Even sexual attraction takes a backseat to a spotless reputation and the ability to produce heirs.”

“Right. And how do we establish for certain if she can … produce heirs?”

“Most women can, I assume.” He said it with such throwaway carelessness. As though the idea of a woman not being able to have children was almost ridiculous.

She pursed her lips. “And some can’t.” Why did the subject always make her feel sick? Why did it always make her feel like a failure?

Well, discussing the ability to bear children as an essential trait of a queen, a wife, was never going to be easy, no matter how much peace she imagined she’d made with her lot in life.

“As we get closer to choosing someone, we’ll have to undergo a medical screening.”

“You’ll be required to do the same,” she said.

“Will I?”

“Well, yes, I’m not allowing any of the women I might find for you to sleep with you until I establish that you have a clean bill of health.”

“You need me to get tested for STDs?”

“Yes. I do. You’re planning on having children with the woman who marries you, which means unprotected sex. And that means a risk to the health of your wife.”

“I assume the women will be undergoing the same tests?”

“All of the women who come to me, all of the women and men in my file, are required to submit those test results to me.”

“As it happens, I just got tested. Clean. You can have the results if you like.”

“I would like them. And I assume you won’t be taking on any more sexual partners while we undergo this process?” She felt her cheeks heating again. The topic of sex and Stavros, in the close proximity of the limo, was just a bit too much.

His eyes flickered over her, leaving heat behind. “Naturally not,” he said, the words coming slowly. Unconvincingly. “And I haven’t had one in quite a while.”

“Good. Also, you will not sleep with the women I introduce to you. They know the rules. I don’t allow sex between my clients.”

“You don’t?” he asked, an incredulous laugh in his voice.

“Not until a match is set and I’m not longer involved. Clearly, the relationship can still dissolve, but I’m not a pimp. I’m not prostituting anyone, and I’m not allowing them to prostitute themselves. This is about creating a relationship, a real lasting relationship, not about helping people hook up casually.”

“I suppose, running it as a business, you would have to be careful of that,” he said.

“Very. When I was starting the business I was really excited, and then I realized what it could quickly turn into if I didn’t lay the rules out. Men … well, and women … could use it to find suitable people to … use. And that’s not what I want.”

“So, you’re not a big one for romance, and yet, this is what you choose to do for a living? Why is that?”

She looked out the window, at the crystalline sea and white sand blurring into a wash of color. “It was what I was doing anyway, though not on this level. But after … when I made some changes in life and started my own business, I knew that somehow … I knew relationships could work.”

“So you went looking for the formula.”

“Yes. And I don’t have the only method, though mine has proven highly successful, but I think the way I go about it works. It also helps to have a disinterested party involved who doesn’t have their heart in it. That’s me. I help people think things through rationally. I set rules so that physical lust doesn’t cloud everything else, doesn’t create a false euphoria.”

“And why don’t you apply it to yourself?”

She laughed. “Because. First of all, I can’t be my own disinterested party. Second, I don’t have the energy or the desire to do it again. I had one big white wedding and I do not intend to do it again.”

“Yet you watch other people do it. Get married, I mean.”

“Yes. But I find that it … helps. It’s restored my faith in humanity a little bit.”

The corner of his lip lifted in a sneer. “Was your ex that bad?”

She shook her head slowly. “Sometimes people change, and they change together. Sometimes one person changes. And the other person can’t handle it.”

It had been her. She’d changed. Her body had changed. And it had altered everything the marriage was built on. Their dreams for the future. It had been too much.

“You’re selling the institution so well,” he said dryly. He punched the intercom button on the limo divider. “Stop us at Gio’s.” He let up on the button.

“I’m not trying to sell you the institution. You have to get married.”

“True.”

“And most people who come to me want marriage, or need it for some reason. My personal story, just one of a sad, all too common statistic, will hardly dissuade them. And I’ll admit, most of them don’t bother to ask about my personal life.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he said, as the limo slowed and turned onto a narrow road that wound up a hillside.

“Do you?”

“You’re interesting. Your clothes for example—interesting. The things that come out of your mouth, also interesting. You beg to have questions asked of you.”

“You would be in the minority in that opinion.”

“Again, I find it hard to believe.”

“I’m very boring. I have a house in North Dakota. I grew up there. Obviously, I don’t work with many billionaires, royalty or socialites in North Dakota. I do a lot of work online, and I travel a lot. I’d say my house is empty at least eight months out of the year. I live alone. Can’t have a cat because … well, the traveling. So that’s me.”

“You skipped a lot.”

“Did I?”

He leaned in, his head turned to the side. Sort of like how a man looked right before he kissed a woman. If she could even remember back that far, to when she’d experienced anything close to it. “You didn’t tell me why you’re so prickly.”

She leaned in a fraction. “And I don’t intend to. Stop flirting with me.”

“Am I flirting with you?”

“I think so.” If he wasn’t that was just too horrifying.

“I can’t help it. You’re beautiful.”

She swallowed. “Look, I know women melt at your feet and all, but I have a job to do, so best you leave me unmelted, okay?”

He leaned back, his lips curving into a smile. “But you’re in danger of melting.”

She was afraid she might be. “No. Sorry.”

He chuckled and settled back in his seat.

The limo stopped in front of a small, whitewashed building that was set into the side of a mountain. The building was tiny, but the deck was expansive, filled with round tables, most occupied by diners. The tables overlooked the beach, with strings of white lights running overhead.

“Ready?” he asked.

She nodded and put her beer in a cupholder. He got out of the car before her and opened her door. “Isn’t your driver supposed to do that?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I always open the door when I accompany a woman.”

“Another one for your file,” she said.

“I’m not sure whether I’m nervous or aroused at the talk of this file. Makes me feel like I’m in trouble, which leads to the same conflicting feelings.”

Heat flooded her cheeks, her stomach. “That’s inappropriate.”

“You’re the only one who can make jokes?”

“No … but I didn’t make any that were that bad.”

“BA? Bedroom Activities?”

“That was serious!” she sputtered as they walked into the restaurant.

“Prince Stavros.” A maître d’ walked to the door quickly, her willingness to serve the prince obvious, as was the blush staining her cheeks. “I wasn’t aware you were coming today.”

He winked. “I’m being spontaneous.”

“Of course,” the woman said. “Your usual table is available. Shall I bring you your usual dinner? For … two?”

Jessica opened her mouth to correct the woman’s assumption, but Stavros cut her off.

“That will do nicely. I can show us to my table.”

He led the way through the indoor dining area, and heads turned as they passed. Stavros had a sort of effortless charisma that poured from him, touching everyone who saw him. She could imagine, so easily, the kind of woman he would need.

One who could match his ease. His strength. Someone to create the perfect image for Kyonos. Someone to carry on the bloodline and keep it strong.

She swallowed a strange, unexpected lump in her throat.

They exited the dining room through two glass doors that led out to the deck. There were only a few scattered tables out there, each partly shrouded by draping fabric hung from a wooden frame built over the porch.

Stavros held her chair out for her and she sat, looking out at the view of the ocean, because it was much safer than looking at the man sitting across from her. She wasn’t sure why. She had meetings with male clients, and very often they were lunch or dinner meetings, in very nice restaurants.

But being with them didn’t evoke this same strange faux-date feel that being with Stavros did. It was that darned attraction.

She opened her purse and pulled out her iPad. “So, I know we were going to talk about specific women to have come to your sister’s wedding.”

“Were we? Now?” He curled his hands into fists on the table, his knuckles turning white. It was hard for her to look away from his hands, from the obvious strain. His face remained passive, easy, but his manner betrayed him.

“Well, no, but I wasn’t expecting to see you until tomorrow, so … no. But we can talk about it now. I’ve had a chance to think about what you’ve told me and I’ve been through my system. I also called two of the three women I’m thinking of and if you’re agreeable to them, they’re willing to come for consideration.”

“This is like an old-fashioned marriage mart.”

“Well, these sorts of marriages are,” she said. Strangely, she felt like comforting him. She didn’t know why. “Granted, you’re the first actual prince I’ve worked with. But I’ve dealt with lesser royals. Billionaires with an interest in preserving their fortunes. Women with family money who wanted an alliance with businessmen who could help them make the most of their assets. People have all kinds of reasons for choosing to go about things this way. Some of these women have money, but no title, while others have a title but are … low on funds.”

“Ah. A title, but no money and a need for a husband with wealth.”

“Some of them. Though this one …” She pulled up a picture of a smiling blonde. “Victoria Calder. She’s English, from a very well-to-do family. She’s not titled but she’s wealthy. She’s been to the best schools. She has her own money and she donates a lot of it to charities. As far as my research has taken me, and it took me to the far and seedy recesses of the internet, her reputation is as spotless as a sacrificial lamb. So if a prominent title isn’t important …”

“As long as you think she would be suitable to the position, she can be considered.”

“So basically fertile and scandal-free. And able to handle public appearances with grace and poise, of course.”

Stavros took the tablet from Jessica’s hand and looked at the photo of the woman on the screen. She was beautiful. More than beautiful, really. He couldn’t find fault with her features. A small, pert nose, pretty, well-shaped lips, rosy cheeks, pale blue eyes.

Yet she did nothing for him. She didn’t stir his blood. She didn’t interest him. More than that, just looking at her made his throat feel like it was tightening. The impression of a noose.

He preferred Jessica’s face. Her longer nose, fuller lips, cat green eyes that tilted at the corners. And her figure … she was like a pin-up girl.

He wondered, not too briefly, if she favored old-fashioned undergarments to go with her vintage dresses. Stockings and garters.

That caused a surge of blood to pump south of his belt. She was a distraction. A temptation. A welcome one, in many ways.

“Yes.” He shouldn’t be allowing distraction now. He had to focus on finding his bride.

Though, Ms. Jessica Carter would make an intriguing lover. She was all soft curves and pale skin. But her eyes … they showed a fire he imagined she set free in the bedroom. She was spicy, her tongue always ready to flay the skin cleanly off the bone if necessary.

Just as she’d pronounced his commanding personality a plus in bedroom activities, he imagined her sharp mind and bold tongue would earn her points in her own BA category.

It would be so sweet. So good. And a welcome distraction from the marriage talk.

“Anyway,” Jessica continued, pulling him from his fantasy, “she’s one I would like to invite to your sister’s wedding.”

“And she’s aware of just what she’ll be invited for?”

Jessica nodded. “Yes. All of the women I’m working with have come to me, seeking out husbands that are suitable to their backgrounds and financial level, just the same as you.”

“I see. So invariably my future wife will be after a title and wealth—” he looked at the photo of the blonde again “—just as I am.”

“Fair is fair. You both know just what you’re getting into. No false expectations. Not if I can help it.”

“No false expectations? Then can I assume you’re including a list of my faults in the file you’ll be sending on to the women involved?”

“Only if they make it past a certain point in the process. Discretion,” she said.

“Of course.” He looked at her face, illuminated and washed gold by the afternoon sun. She was beautiful. Not due to perfection of features, or from the expertly applied makeup, though. Her features were beautiful, and her makeup was expertly done. But it was something more. Something deeper.

She was captivating. Different.

Sexy.

His stomach tightened. “And the first wave of the process begins at my sister’s wedding.”

“That’s right. Is that okay? Or do you feel it will detract from—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted. It was strange to think of Evangelina married. To think of her as a woman rather than a little girl. “My sister is in love,” he said.

“That’s good. Since she’s getting married.”

He gave her a look. “But you know that’s not really how things work around here. Not necessarily.”

“True.”

“She was meant to marry for the good of Kyonos. She is marrying her bodyguard instead.”

“Are you angry about it?” she asked, her eyes meeting his, the glittering green light in them far too perceptive.

“Not in the least. Anger is a completely unproductive emotion.” As were most emotions. He’s witnessed it firsthand. He made sure he didn’t have time for them.

“But that leaves only you.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I can do it.”

“And your brother …”

“Might as well be dead. He doesn’t care for his country. He doesn’t care for his family, his people. He might as well have died with our mother.” The words tasted bitter on his tongue and he wished he had some ouzo to wash it out with. Bitterness wasn’t helpful, either.

As if on command, a waiter appeared with a tray, laden with food and drinks, and set them down on their table. Stavros took the drink first, while Jessica picked up a stuffed grape leaf and turned it in her fingers.