Greek Mavericks: His Christmas Conquest

‘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!

‘What sort of job was your father in?’ Theo asked, curious now that she had made a point of trying to steer him away from her boundaries. ‘Was he a doctor?’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because the papers seem to indicate a medical bent.’

Sophie’s mouth dropped open and she shut it quickly. She didn’t care what he thought of her, but the gaping goldfish impression wasn’t an attractive one.

‘Dad trained as a pharmacist, if you must know, and after he retired he dabbled here in one or two things…’ Talking about him still upset her and she turned away and walked towards another part of the office where yet more boxes awaited inspection. ‘Now, I really must ask you to leave. I have heaps to do.’ She busied herself with the little bundle of files on the desk.

‘Take a break. Join me for a cup of coffee at the café next door.’ Theo was mildly surprised that he had offered the invitation and he wasn’t at all surprised when she turned him down. ‘There are, actually, one or two things I need to discuss with you about the cottage.’

‘I thought you said everything was fine.’ Sophie looked at him anxiously. From the laborious process of going through her father’s belongings, one thing was becoming clearer and clearer by the day. His assets were heavily compromised. Invoices for supplies of substances she could barely pronounce, never mind recognise, littered the office. There were people waiting by the door for payment. Most weren’t as yet baying, because her father had been a lovable man and had obviously surrounded himself with very loyal and supportive people, even the ones waiting to have their bills met, but her father was no longer around and it wouldn’t be long before the patient waiting turned ugly. No one, owed money, remained jolly indefinitely.

The cottage was his greatest asset and she had to make a go of renting it because she just couldn’t bring herself to sell it.

If Theo wasn’t happy then her bank manager wasn’t going to be happy either.

‘What kind of things?’ she asked with a worried frown.

‘We could discuss this next door…’ He watched as she glanced hesitantly around the office and ran her fingers through her hair. She looked frazzled. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail that had probably commenced the day in a far neater condition than it was now. And Robert, he noticed, was eager for the role of protector, rushing to her side and patting her gently on the back, leaning over to whisper something in her ear. The other two women, both middle-aged, glanced at each other covertly and buried themselves in whatever they had been doing before he had interrupted their afternoon.

The dynamics of a provincial office. If office wasn’t a laughable overstatement, because nothing here resembled Theo’s offices—a huge smoked glass building, with each of its eight floors devoted to the efficient running of an empire that had tentacles stretching from his inherited shipping business to a thousand other concerns, all thriving, all diverse. And, at the top of the impressive building, a monument to modern architecture, sat Theo’s domain, a suite of partitioned offices where members of his close staff worked in silent productivity.

He dragged his attention back to Sophie, who was trying hard now to produce a crisp businesslike manner which was not in keeping with the ruffled hair, the flushed cheeks and the casual attire of faded jeans and an oversized rugby shirt.

‘I guess I could spare a few minutes,’ she conceded. He must think her blind not to have noticed the scathing look he gave her premises. He might be a hot shot writer, but she doubted he would have known where to start if he had been in her shoes. She grabbed her bag which, as usual, seemed to be stuffed with too many things and nodded at him. ‘I’ll only be a short while,’ she said to the others, smiling when Moira told her to take her time, that they were fine to carry on sifting through the paperwork without her for a bit.

‘I would appreciate it if you could phone me with queries in the future,’ was the first thing she said as they left the office. ‘I realise that I’m responsible for what goes on in the cottage but, unless it’s an absolute emergency, I would rather you waited until after working hours.’ Next to him, she felt ridiculously small yet she was an average five foot six. He just seemed very tall and very big. Oppressive, in fact, she thought. And how did he manage to look so expensive when he was really only wearing some cords and a cream jumper with a very ordinary suede jacket? She glanced across at him, cross with herself for letting him get to her. Again.

He pushed open the door to the café without answering and Sophie slipped past him, brushing against the suede jacket and feeling her body stiffen in sudden self-consciousness.

‘So what seems to be the problem? You said that Catherine and Annie were doing their jobs…’

‘To perfection…’

‘Then what?’

At three-thirty on a cold autumn afternoon, Theo was amused to see that the café was practically full. Old biddies were chatting over plates of scones and pots of tea. Where the hell did they find the time? At three-thirty in the afternoon, in London, or New York or Paris or Tokyo, he would have been chairing a high-powered meeting or pacing his office, with his PA there, rattling off a million and one things that needed to be done sooner than yesterday and preferably sooner than the day before. He would have kept going, sometimes until late into the night when exhaustion would finally kick in and sleep would be the only option. An option he would have delayed forever because with sleep came the memories.

What was it with the time down here? It seemed to be like elastic, stretching interminably in a twenty-four hour period. Even with his calls, his emails, his extensive reports, he still seemed to have time on his hands at the end of the day.

These people here seemed to have nothing better to do than while away the time over tea and cakes.

He found that he himself was ordering a pot of tea, when the waitress came across.

‘So?’ Sophie prompted. Those unsettling green eyes rested on her face and she flushed.

‘It’s the heating,’ Theo found himself improvising. Now that he was up close and watching her squarely in the face, he could see that her huge brown eyes were fringed with thick, very dark lashes which made a startling contrast to the blonde hair. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to show me the workings.’ Theo had never asked anyone to help him with anything for as long as he could remember and certainly never something as fundamentally straightforward as the heating system of a house. If his mother could hear him now, she would roar with laughter, he thought uncomfortably. ‘Not that I can’t figure it out on my own…’sheer Greek pride forced him to qualify.

Sophie looked at him warily, then she smiled. So he did have chinks in that armour! Even though he came across as the sort of man who could climb Mount Everest during his lunch break!

That genuine hesitant smile was disconcerting enough to make Theo frown, and Sophie, seeing the frown, misinterpreted it as embarrassment at being caught out unable to succeed at doing something.

‘I know,’ she said with pseudo-concern, ‘it’s terrible for a man having to admit that he actually can’t do something, isn’t it?’ She thought back to the many DIY jobs her father had attempted doing, only to end up calling in the experts. He had been clever at science and enthralled at what mankind was capable of inventing, but show him a flat pack and he had inevitably been stuck. ‘Still, you’re a writer so I suppose you have an excuse.’

‘And why is that?’

‘Because writers aren’t really supposed to know how to do practical stuff, like working out the heating or fixing a washer or…replacing a light bulb.’

Theo was outraged at her generalised assumption that he was a woolly-headed idiot but condemned to accept it with grudging good humour. He wondered why he had conjured up such a ridiculous story. Frankly, he wondered why he had bothered. People had already called to find out whether he needed company, including one acquaintance, Yvonne, who had mistakenly translated his previously polite responses as active encouragement. So why the hell was he seeking out the company of a woman who, aside from everything else, did not have a respectful bone in her body?

‘Is that right?’ he drawled, sitting back and sipping some of the tea and watching as she tucked into the obligatory scone with jam and cream.

‘Yes. Although maybe you’re different as you don’t write fiction.’

Theo watched her lick a drop of cream from her finger. His so-called profession was something he certainly did not wish to linger upon.

‘Okay, I’ll pop in after work and have a look. There shouldn’t be a problem, really. One thing we’ve always made sure to look after has been the heating system in the house. It gets too cold here to take any chances.’

‘You being…you and your father…’

Sophie stilled. She wiped her fingers on the napkin and looked across to the waitress for the bill.

‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘So, if anything, the timer switch needs adjusting. I should have thought that you would want the heating on more than normal because you’re probably indoors all day working.’ The bill came and she protested vigorously when Theo insisted on paying.

‘How did he die?’

He wasn’t overstepping the mark—Sophie knew that. He was being polite, maybe even sympathetic, but she still resented the question. It was none of his business. Asking her personal questions was out of line. He was a tenant, not a friend, and not even a particularly nice tenant.

‘I assume it’s not a secret,’ Theo said dryly, ‘but if you’d rather change the subject, then that’s fine.’

‘He had a heart attack. It was quite sudden. He wasn’t old and he was very fit and healthy.’

The memory of Elena’s death came back to him with such ferocity that he drew in his breath. A different start to her day, a different road travelled, maybe not stopping to take his call, and her life would not have shattered into a thousand pieces.

‘So you have been left to sort out his affairs,’ he said abruptly and Sophie, relieved to escape the sadness of the topic, grasped the diversion gratefully and nodded.

‘It’s a bit of a mess, to be honest. I guess I’ll have to get some financial person in at some point to help, but right now I’m doing the best I can.’ She looked at her watch and stood up. ‘Will you be staying on here for another pot of tea?’ she asked politely. ‘Because I’ve got to go now. It’s a bit cold and breezy, but the shops will be open for another hour or so and you could explore.’

‘I might,’ Theo said dismissively, having no intention of doing any such thing. ‘And I’ll see you…at what time…?’

‘Oh, about six, once I’ve locked up.’

It was a Friday night. She was a young girl. Yes, the area might not be hopping with wild night excitement, but had she nowhere to go?

Curiosity, like some alien virus, entered his bloodstream and he stood up, waiting for her to leave before heading back to the cottage. Where he cleverly adjusted a couple of switches so that his ridiculous story could be corroborated.

For once, the panacea of work took a back seat. Gloria phoned, updating him on various deals he had on the go, filling him in on the snippets of gossip, in which he was not the slightest interested. As she spoke, Theo thought about Sophie, then slammed shut the door on the thoughts the second he became aware of them.

At six he heard the buzz of the doorbell and there she was when he pulled open the door. No longer in her jeans and rugby shirt, but combat trousers and a cream sweater over which she wore a longish olive-green jacket that engulfed her. The rumpled hair was now brushed and tied back into two little plaits that made her look about fifteen.

‘On time,’ he said, stepping aside and watching as she walked into the hall and deposited her coat on the banister with the familiarity of someone who had probably spent a lifetime doing it.

‘I live just above the office. It takes me all of ten minutes to get here.’ Sophie looked around, expecting and finding the house in impeccable condition. Annie and Catherine would have told her if he had been a slob. He might be arrogant, obnoxious and full of himself but at least he was relatively tidy. No sign of anything, not even the reams of paper she would have expected to be piling up somewhere. He probably just wrote directly on to his computer—no need to print anything.