A Perfect Man: International Billionaires IV: The Greeks (11 page)

The glare turned deadly. Why? He had no idea. His statements were factually correct. Every one of them.

She loved shoes.

There were no better shoes than Parisian shoes.

And he’d noticed she’d noticed the golden heels as they’d walked into the shop hours ago.

He straightened in his chair, ready for a firecracker blast, but before Sophia could respond, the attendant ran back into the anteroom they’d taken over. “Here. These will be ideal with the dress.”

The stiletto heels were wrapped in spiraled lamé and the pointed toes gleamed with a subtle line of gemstones.

“Go on,
krotída mou
.” Alex watched her as she gazed with wary appreciation at the shimmering shoes. “You know you want to.”

“Fine.” Exactly as she had in his bedroom the night of their golden ball, she grabbed the clothing and clomped back into the dressing room.

“Well.” The attendant gave him a nervous smile. “I’m sure she’ll be pleased.”

“
Oui
, I’m also sure.”

She might be pleased. More likely, she would not.

For some reason, Ms. Feuer did not like dresses. Any kind of dress.

Why?

The tragic story apparently.

One that he became more and more intent on hearing, he reluctantly realized.

As every beautiful gown had been brought out, every time, mutiny had crossed her face and he’d immediately wanted to know why. Much to his relief, he hadn’t had to mouth
lease
even once, yet the curiosity built inside him. Because after her usual scowl, the woman had taken each of the elegant Parisian dresses and stomped back to the dressing room without a word.

No mutiny. No blast of furious words. No tiny fists clenched or pursed pink lips or snapping brown eyes.

Perhaps the woman was finally getting a clue.

Maybe it was as simple as that.

He’d lived with four sisters. He’d grown up in a sea of chiffon and glitter and lipstick. In a world where the female, with all of her wonder and whirl, dominated. Alex Stravoudas knew clothes as well as he knew architecture. As he’d proved to himself, and to her, every time she came pacing out of the dressing room.

When she’d come out the first time, he’d been lucky to be sitting down. His reaction would have been hard to conceal.

He loved Sophia in dresses.

First had come the hand-crocheted cream dress, with its lovely geometric design and ribbed neckline that emphasized her delicate shoulders. Then the classic Parisian black dress. Yet this time the color was subtly altered by a rich touch of warmth making her skin gleam in the chandelier lights like pearl. He’d loved the teal halter-top with the layers of tulle puffing out from her tiny waist. His
krotída mou
had caught him looking at her amazing cleavage and had blushed a fiery red.

He should have made some snarky comment at that point, should have taken the moment to poke her pride and spur her temper. Keep the anger going up and up until she became so vicious and nasty he’d have no interest in her.

Instead, he’d kept his mouth shut.

The tragic story must be told and along with that determination had come another.

He’d abandoned all doubts. The moment he’d heard her hum as she took her first bite of her
crêpe
, the moment he’d groaned an instant response, at that moment, he’d known.

He wanted to have sex with Sophia Feuer.

And he was an idiot to fight the feeling.

No sex throughout his engagement, and the subsequent month he’d been busy stoking his anger at Sophia, certainly contributed to his need. If he wanted to fool himself, he could lay the blame entirely on that situation.

But honesty prevailed.

He’d never stared at Melanie as she ate and thought about making her hum in another way. He didn’t think about tearing off Sophia’s clothes only because they were atrocious. And he couldn’t imagine himself in bed with anyone other than his firecracker.

For now.

Because, obviously, this must be some odd kind of phase he was passing through. He normally didn’t ponder how a woman’s abundant breasts were going to fit into his hand or appreciate the visual of plump thighs spreading for him. However, it appeared his tastes had changed.

For now.

“Okay.” Her voice came low and rough. “I put it on.”

Alex had known the dress was perfect for her. He hadn’t realized how perfect.

The heels drew attention to the curves of her legs. His gaze trailed the curves from her calves to her dimpled knees to the beginning of the thighs currently starring in his pornography-laced thoughts.

His cock roared approval while his brain twisted around a question.

Why had this dress, of all the dresses, caused her to rebel? Why? Because it was completely perfect for her.

Why couldn’t she see this?

“You’re beautiful, Sophia.” His words were simple and sincere. “Beautiful.”

Her face turned white. “Don’t say that.”

Alex stared as her mouth tightened and a sheen of tears filled her eyes. The tragic story was clearly more tragic than he’d imagined. This needed to be dealt with, and even though a month ago, he would have laughed at the idea, he now wanted to fix this for her. “Sophia—”

“I don’t like the color red, okay?” Her hands fisted at her sides. “Sue me.”

“Sophia—”

“You like it? Fine. Buy it for all I care.” She whirled around and made for the dressing room. “I’m finished here.”

The scrolled white door slammed shut.

The attendant pasted on a smile. “I thought she looked
magnifique
.”

“
Oui
, she did.” Alex pushed himself out of the chair and handed her his credit card. “We’ll take everything. Including the red dress.”

A flash of delight crossed the attendant’s face. Her commission fee would be astronomical. “Wonderful.”

He smiled and a flush of another kind of delight filled her cheeks. She was a pretty woman and in other circumstances, he’d be interested.

The slam of the dressing room door came again. From the corner of his eye, he caught the nauseating clash of yellow on sallow skin.

“I’m leaving,” Sophia huffed.

Why? The one-word question swirled around in his head to the point it made him dizzy. Why did this woman hold such fascination for him? At any other time, he’d have chosen this elegant, young lady with her blushing cheeks and charmed gaze instead of the grumpy, frumpy woman stalking past him.

Not this time, though. Not right now.

“If you would send the clothes to this address.” He slipped her a card while giving her the last gift of his smile.

“
Assur
é
ment
.” The attendant gave him another dazzled gaze before processing the order.

The front door slammed.

“Clearly, I’m lagging behind.” Grabbing his credit card back, he slid on his coat and headed for the door.

In the five hours they’d spent at Élodie the sunlight had turned sullen, with dark and heavy clouds threatening rain. A light drizzle began, but he wanted to show Sophia one more place before they went to the family apartment. A place that she, hopefully, enjoyed a bit more than the apparent torture of this afternoon.

Alex shook his head at the inexplicability of the female marching a block in front of him. Any other woman of his acquaintance would have been swooning in his arms after spending half a day buying Parisian clothes he was going to pay for.

Any other woman but—

“Sophia.”

His call only made her stubby legs move faster. Alex sighed into the collar of his coat at her stubbornness. Since she was heading toward Rue de Bretagne, though, right where he wanted to go, he figured he’d let her cool off before demanding she stop where he needed her to stop.

The drizzle turned to rain.

Her long ponytail bopped, the dark brown turning to black. The end of the navy blue peacoat hid her butt, yet he still saw the muscles moving beneath the wool. His imagination heated: her lush, pink ass in his hands, the arch of her back, delicate and creamy, the length of her hair streaming across her shoulders, her round face pressed into a pillow. Her low hum as he smoothed his fingers between her cheeks.

The image was unusually vivid, so picture perfect clear, his cock rose in instant response. Hard, hot, completely engorged.

Alex Stravoudas. Walking along a cold, rainy Paris street. Fully erect.

There had never been once, in his entire life, even as a horny teenager, never once had he become fully erect suddenly, for no apparent reason.

A laugh erupted from him.

The tiny figure stomping in front of him stopped and turned.

Her scowl scrunched her face, an unpainted face. Her hair looked like she’d run a comb through it sometime last month. The corner of the ugly yellow shirt peeked out of the coat.

His cock impossibly hardened further.

Alex laughed once more.

“Why are you laughing at me?” His firecracker’s scowl turned fierce.

“I’m not laughing at you.” He chuckled in rueful acknowledgment of what had just occurred to him. “I’m laughing at myself.”

Her dark brows frowned in apparent confusion. “Huh?”

Never, in his entire life, had he suffered a moment of concern about whether a woman wanted to go to bed with him or not. They always did. He had money, could charm, and had passable looks. So he’d never had an issue.

He did now.

If he told Sophia what he was thinking, she would label him an arrogant asshole. But even if he never told her what he thought, he’d still have a problem.

His cock wanted her.

Alex Stravoudas, amazingly, wanted her.

However, he’d make a large wager that if he proposed bed to Ms. Feuer she’d whack him on the side of his head. Then she’d march off in a huff, leaving his previous confidence with women and sex lying in the dust.

Another piece of his life his
krotída mou
had blown up.

“
I
t’s
cold and I’m wet.” Sophie shivered in her coat and frowned at Alexander the Great.

“You’re also going to be hungry soon.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Stop going on about my eating habits.”

“I like your eating habits.” He grinned in the face of her obvious irritation. “And I know you’re going to enjoy this place. We’re going to enjoy ourselves.”

“Yeah, sure.” She stared down the narrow alley and then back at the metal archway. “You promised me I’d enjoy myself before and look how awful that was.”

“Awful.” He drawled out the word, a hint of tease brimming in the vowels. “You are surprising. In so many ways.”

She ignored him and read the crooked sign instead. “Marché des Enfants Rouges. You want me to go and examine red babies?”

He laughed again. And again she realized she loved it when he truly laughed. Not the fake laugh he’d used on the plane when he was meeting with Henry and their PAs. Not the arrogant laugh he gave his clients. No, his real laugh came rich and round, from his belly and not his calculating mind.

Before she could stop herself, she glanced from the sign to him.

He was smiling. The real smile. The one that lit his blue eyes to blazing beauty and made his wide mouth something she very much wanted to go on her tiptoes and touch.

With her own.

She yanked her attention away. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

“Sophia.” He exhaled in clear exasperation.

Ignoring him once more, she pushed open the gate and marched up the long narrow lane decorated with a line of potted chrysanthemums, their bright yellow and red colors trying to appear cheerful in the dripping rain.

Cheerful. Ha.

She was acting like a brat. She knew this. Rather than being a nitwit, she should enjoy being in Paris. So what if she hated clothes shopping? So what if the last five hours had been horrible? So what if the dratted man walking behind her was a know-it-all manipulator?

She was in Paris.

She was going to spend the next week with the best pastry chefs in the world.

Plus, she couldn’t blame Alexander Stravoudas for not knowing why she hated clothes shopping and hated red dresses in particular. He didn’t know and since she wasn’t ever going to share the gory details, she was stuck with the clothes he’d bought her until their deal was done. Including that horrible red dress. A red dress he was going to demand she wear at some point. She’d seen the look in his eye when she’d walked out of the dressing room for the last time. She’d seen the gleam of—

Sexual interest.

Mr. Perfect was sexually interested in her.

Her tummy flipped into a frenzy at the thought. She hadn’t imagined the
something
in his eyes when they’d been eating breakfast. Alexander wanted to have sex with her. She was sure of it.

Well, almost sure.

Because she was talking about the Perfect Man here. The guy that dated beauties and blondes and the best. Not that Sophie wasn’t confident in herself. She was. Kind of. But she was also a realist.

She was short. Round. And nothing close to being perfect for the Perfect Man.

Rain drizzled on her neck and shoulders, making her shiver.

“Cold?” His warm voice came from right behind her. “We’ll be out of the rain in a second.”

His hand, his big, brute hand, brushed her ponytail and then down. The touch lingered on the small of her back. Even through her heavy wool coat, she felt the linger.

Her steps faltered to a stop. He closed in, right behind her.

She didn’t have a lot of sex radar; her girlfriends teased her about that. Still, she had enough to recognize what this was.

He was interested.

What are you going to do about it
?

The question banged into her brain, leaving confusion and excitement and incredulous disbelief in its wake. Before she could stop herself, she peeked at him. At his mouth, specifically. His sunny smile had been replaced with a sultry, sexy slant.

She looked up farther, into his eyes. The cerulean color blazed with…

Desire.

Her heart chugged into a violent gallop and her gaze flickered to his lush lips once more.

He leaned in, close to her ear. “Do you want to kiss me?”

The warmth of his breath brushed her skin and she shivered again. The rain fell, curtaining them in a haze of privacy.

What are you going to do about this
?

“You want to kiss me, don’t you?” The confidence, the arrogance in his voice, blasted the answer from her brain.

No. She did not want to do this.

No. She did not want to be one of Alexander the Great’s conquests.

And decidedly, NO. She did not want Mr. Perfect gloating about the fact he’d bedded the woman who’d spotted him for what he really was.

A con man. A charmer. The last man she would ever trust with her body.

She turned her head away. “No, I don’t want to kiss you.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the male mouth turn grim.

“Ever again.” Yanking herself from the warm cocoon of his body, she marched forward.

There. She’d made her decision. She’d answered the question. Alexander Stravoudas had her reluctant cooperation for the next few months, but he was never going to get her body. He was never going to get the chance to crow about the fact he’d finally charmed Sophia Feuer into his bed; the last woman on earth who’d resisted him.

The flowers lining the old brick wall sparkled in the rain.

The something that had sparkled deep inside her, for a moment in time, went dim.

“The chrysanthemums are pretty.” His voice came from behind her, mild and calm. As if her words had slid right off his hard hide.

Fine. Whatever. Just so they were clear with each other.

“They’re probably left over from All Saints Day,” he continued the litany, wading right into irritating and cementing the wisdom of her decision.

She jerked to a stop and turned to confront her annoying guide. The rain misted around him, making the curls on the edge of his forehead look like twirled strands of gold. She wasn’t going to let his golden perfection distract her from the lecture that had to be delivered, though, if she were going to get any enjoyment out of Paris. “Let’s get something straight once and for all.”

“I heard you the first time. No kissing. Got it.” His blue eyes were blank as if her rejection hadn’t been any big deal.

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“No?” He frowned. “Then why are you hot under the collar now?”

“Because.” Sophie took in a deep breath and returned the frown. “I don’t want or need you to be my tour guide here. Okay?”

“I’m merely—”

“I can find my way around Paris on my own.”

“But I know—”

“Look. Stravoudas.” His complete lack of listening to what she said fired her temper. Exactly as it always did.

His laugh was long gone. As was the enchanting smile. In their place were a hard expression and a mouth twisted in exasperation.

A twinge of regret ran through her, yet she couldn’t have him messing with her head as she headed into her meetings with the chefs. She couldn’t have him distract her with his smiles and the
somethings
in his eyes. She knew Stravoudas. Even with her complete rejection, he’d find some way to keep worming his way into what he wanted. The guy didn’t take rejection well. She knew that from observing him during the last few months. Rejection only inspired him into a further fit of charm until he finally bulldozed his way to victory. She had to admit to herself, she teetered on the fence of giving in to her growing attraction.

He was sexy. He kissed like a dream. He did, occasionally, charm her.

Another shiver ran through her.

This was going to be tricky.

“I’m working this week.” She forced herself to lay down the law, pushing the twinge of regret away. “You’re working this week.”

“True.” He folded his arms in front of him, the line of his jaw tense.

“Neither of us are going to have time to stroll around Paris taking in the sights.” Well, that wasn’t quite true. She figured in between the TV show shots, she’d have a minute to hike through the Louvre or take in the Eiffel Tower. Only not with him. Not with Mr. I-know-everything-about-Paris. “Certainly not with each other.”

“Certainly.” His eyes were still blank, his expression had grown bland.

So why were the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end? She shook off her unease. “Okay. Just so we’re clear this is all about work.”

“And our deal.”

The unease prickled on her skin. “The deal where I’m your
pretend
fiancée.”

The emphasis she put on the one word didn’t appear to faze him. In fact, it seemed to amuse him. His wide mouth twisted into a sarcastic smile. “My
perfect
fiancée.”

A blast of rain shot down from the sky, yet it did nothing to quench the immediate blast of her anger. Was that what the clothes shopping had been about? First, she’d figured it was about getting her irritated. Then she’d thought maybe it was about his sexual interest. Now it suddenly became clear he was trying to make her into some kind of perfect woman. He was treating her like a doll. A doll he had to deck out in order to make sure she’d be worthy of being seen with him. What total shit. “You are such a dickhead, Stravoudas.”

The smile disappeared to be replaced with a snarl. “What the hell?”

“I mean it.” She swung around to walk away, but his beefy hand yanked her to a stop. “Let go of me.”

“Let me get this straight.” The rain dripped down his cheeks and jaw, highlighting how lean and chiseled they were. “I fly you to Paris.”

“You demanded I come to—”

“A city you’ve always wanted to visit.”

“Not with you being my guide—”

“I feed you. All the time.” He tugged her closer, his fingers digging into her arm, his azure eyes blazing with temper. “I buy you a whole new wardrobe.”

“One that I didn’t need and didn’t want.” Sophie swore she saw the rain sizzle on his hot skin and deep inside herself she responded with a reaction completely contradictory to her goals. Excitement mixed with fury swirled into a potent sexual heat.

“And after all that, I’m a dickhead.”

“Right. Exactly right.” She scowled into his hard face, her heart
clang, clang, clanging
in her chest. “A dickhead.”

His mouth hardened and before she stopped herself, her gaze zeroed in on the movement. A fizzling tingle spread through her body, and suddenly she felt dizzy and unsettled.

The jerk on her arm drew her attention back to the angry man holding her. He crowded in on her, his lips tight, his jaw rigid. “We both know what this is really about, don’t we, Sophia?”

“What?” She tried to yank out of his grasp, but he refused to release her.

“We both know you want to kiss me as much as I want to kiss you.”

“No.”

He laughed. Not his fake laugh and not the laugh that made her want to reach out and touch him. No, this laugh held a threat. He came closer into her personal space, close enough that his breath heated the rain drops on her skin. “I might be a dickhead. But you want me.”

“I don’t—”

“Me. And my dick.”

A
lex fingered
the stalk of asparagus and then passed over it to the next one. The owner of the vegetable stand nodded his head, smiling, apparently sure he’d get a sale. The rain pelted on the corrugated metal roofing of the covered market, making it hard to hear anything.

All to the good.

Even if she kept spewing names, he wouldn’t be able to hear her trash talk.

Glancing across the market, he saw Sophia gazing at a lavish display of chocolates two vendors down from him. Her hair gleamed from the rain and the market lights emphasized the red in the strands.

Their argument still burned in his blood.

His accusation still rang in his head.

You want me
.

He’d been harsh, hard. He’d also been right. Because as soon as he’d barked his words, she’d blushed. And before she’d looked away, he’d seen confirmation in her big, brown eyes.

Ms. Feuer was on fire for him.

The dickhead.

“I’ll take these.” He indicated two stalks and passed over the euros requested. Turning his back on Sophia, he sauntered up the aisle to the fresh fish.

He loved this market, had since he’d been a boy. The stalls filled with kebabs and couscous. The simple wooden tables full of Parisians taking a break from work and tourists from around the world going through their guidebooks. The sharp smell of lavender from the south mixed with the spicy scents of paprika and cloves.

The excitement he’d felt as they’d walked to the steel gate, the anticipation of showing something to her he’d known she’d appreciate, all of that was gone.

I don
’
t want to kiss you.

Her words stung in his memory, although he knew they were a lie.

“I don’t usually enjoy fish that much.” Her voice piped in beside him.

Alex glanced at her and noticed the three plastic bags she held. “Then I guess you can eat chocolate instead.”

She narrowed her eyes, long, dark lashes veiling her gaze. Still, he saw the latent heat and even over his firm conviction never to give her another chance, his cock went semi-erect. He’d been correct when he’d concluded Ms. Feuer would delight in slapping him down if he showed any interest. Yet he’d stupidly stepped right into the path of that slap. But his cock didn’t care.

Not about being correct.

Not about his conclusions.

Not even about the slap.

“You’ll like this fish.” He pointed at the fresh sole and the vendor started wrapping coarse brown paper around the chosen pieces.

“I hate it when you tell me what I’m going to like,” she snapped.

His cock hardened further.

Alex accepted the bag from the vendor and headed for the wine. A good Pouilly Fuissé would go nicely with the lemon cream sauce he planned on pouring over the sole.

“I hate it almost more than when you do this ignoring crap.”