A Perfect Man: International Billionaires IV: The Greeks

A
lex Stravoudas knows exactly
who ruined his reputation: Sophia Feuer. The scheming woman might hide beneath her famous TV confectioner's hat, but she drove away his fiancée, turned the tabloids against him, and now it’s affecting his business. Only fair then, that she repair the damage. By becoming his new fiancée.

S
ophie knows
a con artist when she sees one and the minute Alexander the Great strode into her sights, she pegged him as trouble. Determined to pull her best bud out of his orbit, she succeeds in breaking their engagement. Only to find she’s drawn the ire of man who won’t let a slight go.

F
or Alex
and Sophie going from acrimonious enemies to intimate lovers is shocking enough. What might be even worse is when they both realize they’ve found their perfect match and yet, sacred promises keep them apart. Who will take the leap into hot water to find what they truly desire?

P
erfect pastry
= a perfect business

Nothing on this earth could make her happier than that fact. Nothing at all. Certainly not that oh, so elusive thing as a
perfect man for her
.

No matter what her mother said.

“Mr. Perfect’s on the front page again.”

Sophie glanced away from dabbing black buttercream frosting on the witches. “Jorge. Why do you read that rag?”

“To keep you up-to-date on your friends.” His enormous body lounged in the one chair she allowed in the industrial-sized bakery. Made of hard plastic, the thing was uncomfortable, yet Jorge always managed to spend plenty of time sitting on it, waiting for the deliveries to be ready. With his stack of New York City tabloids at hand.

“Alexander Stravoudas is not my friend.” She leaned over the long steel table and returned her focus to what was important: her business. Not news about a guy who’d exited her life and Melanie’s a month ago.

“He was, once upon a time.”

“No, he wasn’t.” He’d been Mel’s fiancé for one brief moment, once upon a time, but Sophie, thankfully, had been able to talk some sense into her friend. Mel was now where she belonged—with Jack. And Mr. Suave-and-Debonair had moved on to…Well, on to whatever. She didn’t care.

What she did care about was the long list of tasks she needed to complete this evening. She had to get these two hundred cookies done so Jorge could deliver them to the Halloween party on time. Then she had to go into her dinky office and figure out how to execute on the bride’s request to add a picture of her cat to the wedding cake. Last, but not least, she needed to make sure the apricot-filled
kolaches
were cool enough to sprinkle powdered sugar over them so they’d be ready in time for tomorrow’s show. This was going to be a long night.

A shiver went through her. Everything was happening. Just like she’d prayed and dreamed.

Pure Pastry
was becoming a raging success.

“He’s going to be raging when he reads this,” Jorge mumbled from behind the rustle of the newspaper.

Straightening, she sighed as she rubbed her lower back. “What now?”

“He’s lost another contract.” The newspaper crackled in the big man’s hands as he turned a page. “Add to that, supposedly Chi-Chi Vangra turned him down when he asked her out.”

“That’s too bad.” She couldn’t help the sarcasm winding through her words. She didn’t like the man, hadn’t from the moment she’d met him. Maybe it had been the way he’d looked at Mel—as if she were some amusing toy—even after putting an eye-popping diamond on her finger. Or likely it was the over-the-top wealth and accompanied arrogance she found to be such a turnoff. Or perhaps it was her gut knowledge that the man would move on to a new woman within minutes of splitting with her best friend.

And look. Her gut had been right. As always.

“You’re not very sympathetic.” Jorge stuck his bald head above the top of the paper and eyed her. “The poor guy’s had a hard month.”

“I’m sure he’ll survive.” Her dry tone sugared each word.

“Ever since your best bud ended their engagement, it’s been one thing after the other.” The old man tapped the newspaper with one stubby finger. “Before, the guy could do no wrong.”

“I bet he did a lot of things wrong before Mel broke up with him.” She leaned back down to finish the last cookie. “The tabloids just didn’t cover it.”

“Well, they’ve changed their tune.” He eased himself off the chair, his large belly rolling impressively over tight jeans. “Now he can do no right.”

Sophie ignored the waving newspaper and the chatter. It was nothing to her. The news. The man. She had far more important things to think about then Alexander the Great, as the tabs had named him. “Help me box these cookies and you can be on your way.”

“Can I have one?” Jorge already knew the answer.

“One,” she warned as she slid a sheaf of folded boxes from under the table. The old man sauntered over and peered at the throng of witches and ghosts and pumpkins. Choosing one of the scariest ghosts, he hummed as the sugar cookie crumbled in his mouth.

She couldn’t help the smile crossing her face.

That.

That sound had been what hooked her at the tender age of ten. Her grandpa and dad had made exactly that sound when they’d tasted her first batch of brownies. The batch she’d done by herself without any assistance from her beaming grandma and proud mom.

“Damn, Soph.” Jorge chewed and swallowed. “You better lock these cookies away from me or there won’t be any left by the time I get to the party.”

“You wouldn’t eat them all.” She started to stack the cookies in the boxes, placing parchment paper between each layer. “It was your idea to have me donate them to the Harlem Center in the first place.”

“They’re good kids.”

“And so,” her quick hands continued to fill the boxes, “they deserve a treat.”

His answering chuckle stopped abruptly when the doorbell chimed. “Who is that buzzing after hours?” he grumbled. “I don’t like it that you’re here alone after the others go home.”

The others being her two assistants. Who, even if they were here, would be useless in driving off any bad guys. Megan would probably start crying and collapse at any sign of danger. Tamika would be too busy tweeting her best friend about the news she was being robbed to do any damage. “I highly doubt any bad guy is going to ring the doorbell to announce his presence.”

Ignoring the continued grumbling from the old man, Sophie headed for the steel door. She’d been lucky to find this space right smack dab in the middle of the Lower East Side. She needed a place in the heart of New York City since most of her customers lived on the island. Two years ago, when it had been clear her exposure on the TV show was going to skyrocket sales, her small walk-up apartment down the street could no longer handle the baking orders.

She’d needed space. Lots of space.

So she’d definitely lucked out with this place. The twenty-five-thousand square-foot building had once housed an eighties’ nightclub but had lain vacant for years. However, some developer had come along a couple of years ago and started leasing units just as she had begun her search. The place was rough and rundown. Still, with some help from her buddies, she’d managed to turn it into what she needed.

Wrestling with the stubborn lock, she finally wrenched the door open.

To a surprise.

Sophie baked surprises. Supplied surprises.

She personally did not appreciate surprises. Of any kind.

She stared at him, trying to understand why. Why had he come here and surprised her?

“Sophia.” He’d always called her by her full name and it always irritated her.

The October sun sunk low behind the tall spires of endless skyscrapers. But the darkness behind him merely highlighted the brilliance of his presence. He radiated energy and heat and bright. She’d forgotten his vitality, the way his appearance always seemed to suck out her breath.

She’d forgotten how much he irritated her.

He didn’t smile. Not as he had when they’d first met. Not when he’d still been in full campaign mode to win her over. He didn’t flash his white teeth or bat his blue eyes or do anything to make her agreeable to whatever he was going to pitch.

No. Instead, Alexander Stravoudas looked very much like he’d looked the last time she’d seen him.

When she’d given him back the bling.

“May I come in?” The deep voice thrummed along her spine as it had every time he spoke in her presence.

Which had irritated her too, come to think of it. “What are you doing here?”

A broad, bulky hand landed on the door. Her gaze swung to the hand attached to the long, lean arm which was attached to the tall, lean man standing right in front of her.

The hand also irritated her. Not only because it was now trying to nudge the door open, but because it was not what an artist’s hand should look like. She’d been unwillingly fascinated when she’d stared down at his hand as he held Mel’s, showing off the outrageous rock he’d bought to announce he’d found a bride. His hand had bemused her then, and it bemused her now. This hand should not be designing such beautiful buildings.

He had the hands of a brute. Not an artist.

The brute’s voice dipped in displeasure. “Let me in.”

Oh, there. There was another source of infinitely more than mere irritation. There was what had sealed his doom in her judgment when she’d experienced it for the first time.

His arrogance. His complete disregard for any other person’s point of view.

Like hers.

She’d only mentioned the subject because it had been important to Melanie. She’d wanted to make sure her buddy was going to continue with her work after the marriage. The work she’d spent four years in college studying.

“She doesn’t have to work,” he’d said, oozing his crappy conceit. “She’s going to be my wife.”

As if there could be no other position quite soooo wonderful as that. He hadn’t thought about how much good Melanie did every day at her work. He hadn’t thought about whether or not Mel would want to spend every one of her hours cooing over his greatness. He hadn’t thought about his future wife’s desires or the good she did every day. Not at all.

He’d only thought about himself.

Thank goodness Melanie had left him and gone back to Jack and her work with the special-needs kids at the elementary school.

Thank goodness she, Miss Sophia Charlotte Feuer, no longer had to be nice to this man.

Folding her arms in front of her, she frowned. “Go away.”

“No.” The big hand didn’t nudge anymore. It slammed the door open and he stepped forward.

“Hey,” Jorge exclaimed in immediate outrage. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The brute glanced past her and smiled.

Jorge went silent.

That smile. That was another one of the things she’d forgotten. She’d forgotten how irritated his smile made her. It made her itch. To slap or smack or jeez, even punch. He had full lips, indecently so for a man. The lush fullness of the bowed upper, the ripeness of the lower jutting out, almost as if the man was pouting. The mouth was too much, too over-the-top.

The lips, the mouth…she hated to admit it…were perfect for him.

And worked perfectly well in entrancing men as well as women, when they broadened into a gloriously beautiful smile.

The one he wore right now.

“I didn’t realize Sophia was entertaining.” He stepped right past her and thrust his brutish paw towards the older man. Who clutched it. Of course.

The charm offense.

Another irritating thing she had noted about Alexander the Great. At the endless happy hours he’d hosted that she’d attended with Mel, and then the long, insufferable week at his plush Hampton estate with the pre-wedding party, she’d seen this trick of his do amazing stuff. Even she had to admit, the whole schtick was pretty damn incredible.

Within moments of entering a room, he had everyone in a dazzled stupor.

Within seconds of meeting a person, Alex Stravoudas had made a new lifelong friend.

Within days of meeting Melanie, he’d had her best bud convinced he was the guy.

But there was one bright, shining spot in the midst of all this capitulation to Mr. Perfect’s charm. During the entire three months he’d tried to win Sophie over, he’d never moved an inch towards his goal.

Which had really, really irritated
him
.

She was glad, proud even. This man didn’t deserve her respect and he certainly hadn’t deserved Mel’s hand in marriage. He didn’t have a heart. She was sure of it. Which is why she felt not a spot of guilt at what she’d done. She didn’t care that he’d had some problems with business during the last month. He deserved it. He was nothing but a heartless con artist.

The con artist smiled at Jorge. “Call me Alex.”

The old man mumbled something indistinct, yet his whole body language spoke of waning anger and bluster. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. Exactly as she would have if Tamika or Megan were hanging around, panting and preening at the man, Sophie was going to have to be the one to throw the intruder out. “I want you to leave.”

He turned, his smile still in place. But there was something frozen in those blue eyes of his. He didn’t like her any more than she liked him. Which begged the question as to why the heck he was here.

She suppressed the whisper of curiosity.

“Ah, Sophia,” he said, as if the existence of Jorge had put her entirely from his mind. He’d done this before, after he’d understood she couldn’t be won over. Subtly putting her down. Diminishing her.

A lick of temper flared deep inside.

“Yes, Soph
ie
.” She tightened her fingers on her arms. “The owner of this place.”

“Not really.” He paced across the room to the dinky office and glanced in. As if
he
were the owner.

She didn’t have an Irish temper. Not like her mom. Still, something close to a volcano blasted from her gut, heating her face and burning her brain. “What the hell are you doing?”

Jorge shuffled beside the table laden with boxes. “Do you want me to throw him out?”

The charmer swung around and chuckled. “There’s no need for that. Sophia and I are old friends.”

She snorted. Eyed the two men. Thought about her options.

Jorge was big. But old.

Stravoudas was bigger. And young.

The cookies needed to be delivered.

The glint in the con artist’s eyes told her he wasn’t going easily into the night.

Finally, her curiosity got the best of her. “Jorge. Get going. The kids are waiting.”

“You sure?” The old man swung his gaze from the smiling man to the frowning Sophie.

“I’m sure.”

With a snort, he grabbed the dozen boxes, hefted them into his burly arms, and left.

The door thunked behind him. Silence followed. A strange sort of hushed silence one only felt right before a thunderstorm was about to roll across the city with ferocious glee.

“Well?” She shot the word at him, trying to jerk out of the welling anxiety suddenly swimming in her stomach.