A Perfect Man: International Billionaires IV: The Greeks (22 page)

She giggled.

He went rigid.

Uh, oh.

“You know what, Sophia?” Jerking around, he waded to the edge of the pool and climbed out. He grabbed a towel and wiped it down his front as he turned to confront her.

“What?” She probably didn’t want to hear what he was going to say, but since he clearly was going to say it no matter what, she might as well be a part of the conversation.

“You.” He threw the towel over his naked shoulder. “Can go fuck yourself.”

He stalked off, his long, curly hair flowing behind him. A golden god, all pissed off, with the best ass on earth or heaven.

Sinking into the hot pool, she thought about being angry. But her body still hummed with lusty energy for only one man and her brain finally understood Alexander the Great. Understood this man could be more of a dick to himself than anyone else around him. “I’d rather make love to you, Alex.”

H
e was a fucking animal
.

His father and grandfather would have said far worse. He didn’t even want to think about his
maman
and her reaction to what he’d just done.

The last of his lust disappeared.

The air was crisp and cold, and yet, Alex swore he saw steam coming off his naked body. His angry body. The inevitable desire for Sophie might have temporarily been dispelled, but the anger he held for her still stood.

She’d done this. She’d driven him to this.

Pacing up to his place, he slammed the door open and then closed. Even though he hated this loss of control, this loss of himself and what he believed himself to be, it still felt impossibly good to be something other than…

Perfect.

He snorted as he stomped up the wooden stairs to the loft. He had no claim to that damn title, not now. Not ever again. Not when Sophia Feuer was anywhere around him.

Rushing into the bathroom and twisting the shower on, he stuck his head into the splash of warm water.

He growled.

He didn’t deserve warm water and if he had to make a bet, Sophie wouldn’t slink off into the woods. Hell, no. By the look in her brown eyes as he yelled at her, she’d be plowing into his hideout in a matter of minutes.

He wrenched the water to ice cold.

God damn it. She’d taken all of her clothes off right in front of him. In broad daylight.

Where had the tragic story gone?

How could a man be expected to deal with that in a civilized way? How could anyone expect he’d be able to hold onto his composure and make love to her like a man should love a woman? Especially with this damned frustration and confusion swirling inside him.

And double God damn it. She’d inspected his sketches. The stupid, silly, dreamy sketches he only did when he had some free time. Like the stupid, silly, dreamy teenager he’d once been and now rarely thought about.

Until lately.

He shivered as the water slid down his body.

No one could blame him for what he’d done.

Except himself.

The memories stormed back even as he tried to keep them at bay. The delicious, delicate line of her spine as she arched into him. Her lush round ass filling his hands as he watched himself going in and out of her. The sounds she made as she came, as her body wrapped around his, pulling him into an erotic black hole he only found himself diving into when he made love with Sophie.

The way his fingers dug into her skin.

The way he’d pushed her into the limestone and marble.

The way he’d banged inside her like an out-of-control teenager.

He’d dreamed of her like that, given to him like a plump, perfect prize. But his dream had never included the images of her fighting to keep afloat or the regret and rage roiling inside him now.

Cursing under his breath, he turned off the water and grabbed another towel. He needed to get dressed quick. He needed to have armor on when he next saw Sophia.

“Stravoudas?” Her sassy voice pierced the bathroom door he’d slammed behind him. “Come out here. I have something to show you.”

God help him. He didn’t want to see whatever she had on show because he’d make another bet. A bet that he’d show her another piece of his fucking animal within two seconds of her show.

“Come on,” she coaxed. “Don’t be afraid.”

The taunt blasted his temper high into the mountain sky. He might be an animal, but he wasn’t afraid. He never was afraid.

The bathroom door whacked back onto the wall. “Sophia, you better—”

The air in his lungs whooshed out.

“Hi.” She stood at the side of his bed, her cocoa eyes dark and dreamy, her smile pure paradise, her brown hair lit from behind by the soft, snowy light coming from the window.

She was entirely naked.

Again.

He scowled. “Put on some clothes.”

“You don’t have any on. Why should I?”

Before he could cudgel his brain into an appropriate response, she swayed over to him, her luscious hips swinging, sucking every thought from his head.

Except one.

There were smudges on those female hips. The beginning of a string of bruises made by his fingers. A howl of rage filled his mind, blanking everything out besides disgust and despair.

He’d bruised her.

Not again. He wouldn’t do it again.

“Stop,” he croaked.

She ignored his instruction just as she had at the pond. Instead, she walked into his space, fitting right into him, filling the air between them with the spicy scent of evergreen and the sweet smell of vanilla.

His brain lurched to work. He grabbed for anything. “I guess the tragic story is no more,” he snapped.

That stopped her. The delicate lace of her brows furrowed.

Alex took in a relieved breath. She’d leave now, she’d go. He wouldn’t hurt her again.

“Hmm.” She cocked her head, her hair sliding down one round, freckled shoulder. “I guess so.”

No. NO. She needed to leave and be safe and tell him the tragic story so he could fix it for her and redeem himself. “You—”

“Hey.” One small hand landed on his chest. “I’ll tell you the story if you want. But it doesn’t matter right now.”

She smiled at him and something in her eyes stopped his arguments, stopped his soul. Some tender, fluttery thing around the edge of the cocoa. Some fragile, delicate emotion he didn’t want to break.

“Sophie,” he whispered.

Her hand slipped down to his hand and she tugged him toward the bed. “Come on, Alex. Show me the real you again.”

A
lex woke
to the sweet smell of paprika mixed with the stinging scent of onion.

His eyes blinked open.

Greece. His place. Nighttime, because the only light he saw came from downstairs and it was the warm, mellow glow from the fireplace added to the brighter lights from the kitchen.

His nose twitched. His stomach rumbled.

His ears heard her humming drifting from below.

Sophie.

Alex rolled over, taking the sheets with him. He was naked, which was usual for him when he slept, but he hadn’t been sleeping in this bed.

Or not
only
sleeping.

She’d taken his hand and led him right back to his animal. He’d found himself lying on this bed, crying out as her little bow mouth slid and slipped across his skin, across his nipples, across his cock. He’d lost all control once more and proved to himself he couldn’t be perfect for her. Yet she’d moaned and sighed and when it was all over, she’d told him she loved it. Loved it when he was an animal.

She’d said those exact words.

“I love it when you lose it, Alex.” She’d smiled at him as she brushed the palm of her hand along the shadow of hair on his jaw. “I love it when you’re an animal.”

He shook his head.

Women.

No, it was more like…

Woman.

Sophie.

“Hey.” He stared at the beamed ceiling, waiting for her reply. With his gaze, he traced the black oak beams inlaid on the white plaster as he’d designed and waited. He needed to get a sense of her mood before he showed himself.

“Hey, yourself.” Her voice came back, cheery and light. “Get down here. It’s time to eat.”

Nella must have been here, delivering his daily supply of food. He’d subsisted on sandwiches and wine during the last few days, much to the older woman’s disgust, but from the smell, Nella had delivered something more substantial for the evening meal.

He wondered what Nella thought of the whole situation. Having never brought a woman here before, he’d never spent any time thinking of Pedros and Nella’s sensibilities. Still, when they’d arrived, on that first night, he’d instinctively known if he stuffed Sophie into his bedroom, he’d lose some of the respect and affection from the older couple.

The respect and affection he’d come to value.

He wondered what she had said to Nella. He wondered if he’d lost something he’d just realized was important to him. Anger at himself, at her, rumbled through his soul. Sophie made him do so many things he shouldn’t do. He knew that, yet he’d still did them.

Rolling off the bed, he padded into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

“Come on, Stravoudas.” Her voice rang from below. “I’m dishing this up now and I’ve worked for a couple of hours to make it exactly right.”

His hand stopped, his toothbrush stuck in the middle of his mouth.

Sophie? Sophie cooked for him?

Not once had one of the most famous pastry chefs in New York City lifted a finger to make anything for him at all. Not even a simple sandwich. No, instead, it had been him doing all the cooking and baking and buying of food. For her.

He spit out the toothpaste along with a sliver of disgruntlement.

He shouldn’t be disgruntled. He’d enjoyed feeding Sophie. He’d enjoyed her healthy appetite.

The annoyance slithered through his blood as he pulled on his jeans.

“There you are.” Turning from the simple stove, she gave him a friendly smile. “I thought I’d try one of Nella’s recipes.”

“Did you.” He took in the black oak table. Two wine glasses stood waiting along with a couple of cloth napkins and silverware. A thick white candle flickered in the center, glowing cheerfully.

He didn’t feel cheerful. He felt surly.

Her cocoa eyes went wary, his sharp little firecracker clueing in to his tension immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“Cooking for me, Sophia?” He gave her an insincere smile. “Has hell frozen over?”

Her tiny hands fisted. Her bow mouth tightened. And her brown eyes, the eyes that had looked at him with gentle warmth a few hours ago, those eyes went flat. “You are an impossible man to please.”

That wasn’t true. Everything about her pleased him. The way her body filled out the jeans and sweater she had on. The way she fit into his arms. The way she hummed every time he came into her.

Her smell. Her taste.

Her brain. Her wit.

The fragile Sophie. The firecracker Sophia.

Every piece of her pleased him.

That was the problem. She pleased him too much. Pleased him so much he let his guard down and became something he didn’t want to be. Even worse, she rammed right through all his barriers and made him question everything about himself. Everything he’d decided long ago.

“Nothing to say to that?” Her button nose scrunched. “Then you must agree.”

Twirling around, she lifted the lid off the old-fashioned clay pot sitting on the stove.

“Nella came here, didn’t she?”

“No.” She slammed the lid down on the counter. “I went to the big house. I didn’t want her to be worried when I disappeared and I needed to get some ingredients.”

“What did she say?”

Her shoulders tightened at his curt tone. “She said very little. She smiled a lot.”

Smiled? A lot? His housekeeper had to know what was going on. She couldn’t have missed the tumble of Sophie’s dark hair or the bruise on her neck where he’d sucked and bit like the animal he was.

“Alex.” His
krotída mou
slapped a spoon into the pot. “Stop worrying about your reputation with Nella and Petros. They adore you.”

Her tone indicated she couldn’t understand why.

A reluctant grin skidded onto his mouth.

“Nella was happy about us being together, okay?” Another
slap, slap
of the spoon. “She even gave me a hug when I left.”

Alex wanted to stay angry, but Sophie was so damn cute: when she tossed her long, loose hair over her shoulder in dismissal, when her round body bristled in irritation, when her jaw clenched in apparent disgust.

“What are you cooking?”

She peered at him. Something in his cautious tone must have struck her as an olive branch because the tense line of her jaw eased. “
Tavče gravče
.”

A simple bean dish Nella had introduced him to on the first night he’d stayed at his new acquisition. Yet the smells emanating from the pot weren’t exactly the same as the ones he’d sniffed in his housekeeper’s kitchen.

Alex walked to her side and leaned in. There were the usual onions, tomatoes, and peppers sizzling along with the boiled beans. However, being Sophie, she hadn’t stuck to the script. There were also leeks.

“Leeks?”

She shrugged one delicate shoulder and kept stirring.

Leaning in further, he sniffed. “Mint?”

“You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to.” She stood rigid beside him, her mouth grim. “I just thought it might be fun to mix it up.”

That was probably the best description of Sophia Feuer he’d ever heard. She thought it was fun to mix everything up. Including him.

He looked down at her. He could tell she was pissed again, the olive branch he’d offered a moment ago rejected, because he swore he could see the steam shooting from the top of her head. “Hey.”

She huffed and ignored him.

His stomach let out a growl.

“Oh.” She jerked her head around to stare at his torso. “You’re hungry.”

Yes. Hungry for her. Her delicate brows, her creamy freckled skin, the sweet way she stared at him when they made love.

Made love
.

Something other than hunger rumbled through him, but he pushed it back. “Yeah. I’m hungry. Shall we eat?”

Wary cocoa eyes lifted to meet his gaze. “All right.”

He poured the wine while she filled wooden bowls with the steaming stew. Within a few minutes, he’d finished the first bowl and helped himself to another. Freshly baked sourdough bread and a salad of tomatoes, cucumbers, and feta cheese went down along with the main course.

“Gee.” Sophie stared across the table, her mouth open in surprise. “You were hungry.”

“I’m always hungry.” He dipped a piece of bread into the broth.

“True.” She sipped the wine. “But not like this.”

He grunted, not willing to admit his hunger might be because he hadn’t eaten much the last couple of days. Nella had scolded so he’d ended up taking the remnants of his meal and scattering them for the birds. He also didn’t want to admit his hunger might have something to do with being a fucking animal twice today.

“This is good wine.” Her glass swirled, highlighting the rich, ruby-red wine. “Is it available in the US? I’ll have to get some.”

“No.” He scooped the last of the beans onto his spoon. “It’s only available here.”

Her dark brows arched. “In Greece? I can buy some here before we leave.”

“No.” He chewed on the last of the sourdough while he noticed the firelight from behind coated her in an amber glow, bringing out the red highlights in her hair. “Only here.”

“Here?” Her brow wrinkled in continued confusion.

So, so cute. He wanted to scoop her into his arms and take her right to the loft. Still, his fucking animal might make an appearance again, so he didn’t make a move. “I own a lot of land around here.”

“Oh?”

“And part of that land is a vineyard.”

Surprise filled her eyes. “You made this wine?”

“Yeah.”

Pushing her empty bowl away, Sophie placed her elbows on the table and notched her chin into her hand. He could see the buzz of questions zipping around in her brain.

He sighed. “Ask away.”

She tipped her head, her hair sliding down her shoulders, and laughed. “Am I that obvious?”

“Yes.” He grabbed his glass of wine and eased back in the low-backed wooden chair. He didn’t know why he opened this door inside him, why he wanted to give her this. Maybe it was the sated feeling after sex and a good meal. Maybe it was the warm quiet of the night. Or maybe, God help him, he wanted to give her anything she wanted.

Including himself.

She hummed, the hum that always made him itchy to grab her. “Where should I begin?”

T
he question
she really wanted to ask was
what’s wrong
?

Yet from the slump of his broad shoulders and the shift of his body on the chair, he wouldn’t stand for an interrogation.

Sophie supposed she could take him by the hand like she’d done a few hours ago, using sex to take his mind off whatever was troubling him, but that hadn’t worked, had it? Not in the hot pool and not in the bed upstairs. In fact, the sex had seemed to make him even more agitated and angry. The man in front of her still had that ugly look in his eye and still appeared emotionally fragile.

Alexander Stravoudas. Fragile.

A month ago, if she’d thought of him this way, she would have laughed at herself. Now, the tug of her love threatened to sink her heart into a pit of worry. She needed to help him. Yet how?

“Come on.” He waved one brute hand at her. “Ask away.”

“Tell me about your little horses.” Surprise was always a good tactic. She took another sip of his fantastic wine and watched for his response from behind her eyelashes.

Caramel brows rose in disbelief. “That’s what you want to talk about?”

“For now, yes.” She gave him a teasing smile, trying to lighten the tone, trying to bring him out of his funk. Perhaps then, he’d tell her what rumbled in his soul.

He chuckled softly and her heart lifted.

“Fine. Where do I begin?” He ran his fingers through his loose hair. The curls clung to his ear and splashed along his collarbone and shoulders like a shower of golden coins. He hadn’t shaved since they’d left Paris; it showed clearly in the beginnings of a dark honey burr on his jaw. The deep blue of his simple wool sweater brought out the highlights in those impossible eyes of his. He was so perfect, so perfectly enticing, she had a hard time focusing on trying to help him find his way out of the minefield he’d strayed into.

But she needed to. Being his lover wasn’t going to fix this. Whatever
this
was.

“They’re Thessalys.” He took a sip of his wine, his wide mouth drawing her attention. “They’re almost extinct and I decided to do something about it.”

“Thessalys?”

He looked at her, the twinkling tease back in his eyes. “Supposedly, Alexander the Great’s horse was from Thessalian stock.”

“So of course, the modern day Alexander the Great had to have one too.” She smiled at him as her heart soared at seeing the twinkle.

“Actually, I have a dozen.” He gave her back a smile, his real one, and to her satisfaction, the light in his blue eyes didn’t dim. “I’m breeding them.”

“Do you ride them?”

Alex let out a bark of laughter. “With these legs?”

Sophie let her gaze travel over the leg he had thrust out from under the table. The jeans lovingly hugged the long length of his thigh while only hinting at the strength of his calf. Her inspection landed on his bare feet, big and male and brutish. A month ago, she would have said they were ugly, like his hands. Now, she found them, both his hands and his feet, inexplicably enticing.

“But I can see you on one of them.” He hadn’t noticed her perusal because he was too busy staring into the fire. “You’d be very pretty on top of one of the mares.”

“Pretty?” She scrunched her brow. “I’d say the word would be terrified.”

His gaze jerked around to meet hers. “You’ve never ridden?”

“Nope.” She placed her empty glass down. “I never plan on doing it either.”

“Honestly?” Grabbing the wine bottle, he filled her goblet and his. “Sophia Feuer? Afraid of something?”

She snorted. “I’m afraid of a lot of things.”

“No way.” He gave her another smile as he sipped. “Not the firecracker I know.”

“You’d be surprised.” She shouldn’t drink anymore, her head was definitely getting a bit fuzzy and her words slightly slurred. Yet the fire and the cozy hut and the man sitting across from her made her want to draw this time out into infinity.

Alex fiddled with the stem of his glass and threw her a cautious glance.