A Perfect Man: International Billionaires IV: The Greeks (27 page)

A
lex leaned on the fence
, watching Arion and Vouk race each other across the snow-covered field. Their tails and manes flew in the wind, their powerful muscles flexing, the hooves flying.

Free.

He leaned in farther and his head dropped until all he saw were his clasped hands. Hands that had designed hundreds of buildings. Hands that had always known the line to draw, the angle to frame. Hands he’d depended on to get him to where he’d decided to go at the age of seventeen.

The knuckles on his hands turned white.

He jerked himself straight. Without looking at the horses again, he turned and paced to his hut. But in the last two weeks, unlike every other time he’d come here, he had found no solace or hope or courage. This time, his hideout hadn’t refreshed his spirit and certainly hadn’t reinforced his purpose.

This time, he’d found only a hollow, empty pit inside.

Throwing open the wood door and then slamming it shut behind him, he flung himself onto the sofa. The fireplace was cold; he hadn’t had the energy to start the flames this morning or even after his half-eaten noon meal.

He stared into the dark depth of the grate.

A blast of anger had burned in him for a few days after the New Year’s Eve fiasco. He’d waved off Henry’s concern that night and left his penthouse to the partying crowd. Holing up in a hotel for the evening and the following day, he’d ignored the calls from his
maman
and sisters and friends and the press and focused on the one dominant emotion overwhelming all others.

Fury.

Fury at his firecracker.

She’d done it again. Blown everything around him up. Without asking him or consulting him or even giving him an inkling of what she intended to do.

A friend would have asked.

A lover would have warned.

Alex lurched off the sofa and strode to his work table. Since arriving, he hadn’t touched anything lying here. Not the pile of scales or the rolls of tracing paper. Not the stack of finished designs. Not even the elegant Frank Lloyd Wright pen set his father had given him on his sixteenth birthday.

It would have felt like betrayal to his father.

He sagged down onto the drafting chair.

The fury had driven him here because if he’d stayed in New York he would have called his contact on the zoning board and blown Sophie’s bakery to high heaven.

He was her friend even if she wasn’t his.

He was her lover even if she’d rejected him.

So he’d come to Greece. Yet he’d realized, before even stepping through the door, there would be no peace for him here. There was no peace for him anywhere. Not anymore. Restless, he shifted in the chair, pulling a stack of drawings in front of him. His finger ran over the waving arch of a roof, then across the line of steel dividing the home from the pool.

I saw your sketches.

His gut twisted.

They are amazing, Alex
.

His heart hurt.

Those homes are what you should be building.

His head felt like it was going to explode.

Rolling out of the chair, he marched to the fireplace and stared at his father’s photograph.

He’d promised.

He’d promised.

His throat tightened.

Sophie should have trusted him to figure out what to do on his own. She should have let him wade through this minefield of old promises and new hopes until he’d come to his own conclusions. Instead, she’d done more than blow his plans to hell. This time she’d placed a bomb right in the pit of his heart and lit the fuse without batting an eye. The fact she’d made some decisions about him burned, but not as much as the realization she had willingly betrayed him and then, walked away.

Betrayed him.

And then walked away.

He hadn’t thought she’d ever walk away.

Knowing women, he’d known. Known what he saw in those cocoa eyes. Known by the way she moved into his arms and smiled into his face and took him into her body.

He’d known.

She loved him.

Yet, she’d walked away.

His fist landed on the edge of the mantel with a hard smack. Was it too much to expect that the woman who loved you would stand by your side? A woman in love should be right here, right now, helping him keep his promises.

Taking in a breath, he placed his forehead on the mantel, right by his father’s picture.

No, no. He didn’t want Sophie and her love here. She’d quiz him and talk to him and make him doubt his past decisions. Until he figured everything out himself, he needed to stay away from her.

A sharp rap came from the door.

Nella. With more food he didn’t want to eat.

“Come in,” he called, weariness sifting through his body.

The door flew open with a slam.

Yanking his head around, he froze. “Sophie.”

No other female stood in just this way—in a jaunty, brash stance that hurt to look at because he loved it so much. No other female had a shape that shot his lust into the stratosphere with one glance.

He didn’t want to lust. He didn’t want to hurt.

And he absolutely did not want Sophia Feuer here.

How was he supposed to figure out his life while she was around? Mixing him up, blowing him up, making everything impossible. “Why the hell are you here?”

She didn’t even flinch. In her usual bulldozing way, she marched into the center of the room with her all-knowing confidence.

His temper exploded. “Go away.”

“I’m here.” Her chin shot forward. “To fix everything.”

His jaw clenched. “I want you to leave.”

“Not until I tell you what I’ve done.”

God help him. She’d done more? More messes for his heart and head to deal with? “You’ve done plenty already, Sophia.”

Her bow mouth drooped for a moment. But in her usual way, she shook off any indecision and barged forward. “I admit, I did this all wrong.”

Alex breathed in a harsh, hot breath, trying to keep himself still until she’d marched back out the door. If he moved, he might crush her round, little body in his big hands. Or grab her and throw her on the sofa and strip her naked and start acting like an animal once more. “
This
?
This,
like ruining my career? Or
this,
destroying my business?”

Or
this
, breaking my heart.

He wouldn’t admit that to her. Not here, not now. Maybe never.

“I’ve put it all back together.” Straightening her shoulders, she gave him a tentative smile.

He sneered. “That’s not possible.”

“Anything’s possible.” She crossed her arms in front of her. “I still don’t think you should build that skyscraper, but I made a promise—”

“Which you broke.”

“True.” A wistful wave of emotion swept her face. “I thought I was doing what was right for you.”

“How would you know what’s right for me?” The fury roiled inside, eating into his soul. “Why should you decide?”

Her mouth tightened and she nodded her head, sending her ponytail bobbing. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have done what I did, so I put it all back together.”

“Huh?”

“Henry and I got together and we’ve have everything back on track.”

“What?”

“I gave an interview to a couple of tabloids and Henry did the same with several financial papers.”

“God damn it.” He couldn’t contain himself or his body anymore. Stomping to her side, he glared into her cocoa eyes. “What did you say now?”

His firecracker didn’t back down or step away. Her expression shone with determination. “I told them I merely had a case of nerves and everything between us was fine.”

He stumbled away. “You did what?”

“Our fake engagement is back on.” Her lips twisted in a wry way, making him notice how she emphasized the word
fake
.

The movement and the emphasis made his temper grow hotter.

“After that,” she paced to the fireplace as if she felt the heat of his anger, “Henry talked with the emir and he’s still willing to go forward with the deal.”

“Really?” His hands fisted into a tight grip at his side.

“Really.” Turning around to face him again, she plastered on a cheerful grin. “Henry says it will be simple to put the IPO back into place, once you return to New York City and sign the papers for the skyscraper.”

“My dick skyscraper.”

Surprise flitted across her face at his growling words. “Well, I might think it’s not that great, but the emir certainly thinks it’s amazing. And that’s what counts.”

“THAT’S NOT WHAT COUNTS.” His cry filled the small hut.

She jumped, her eyes growing wide, her mouth gaping open. “Alex—”

Jolting around, he strode out the open door, his long legs eating up the Greek ground. Hunger for her rolled inside, along with his love for her. Affection swirled around delight in her boldness, her belief in the parts of him he’d never confronted and accepted. All of the emotions crashed against the wall of determination he’d built brick by brick in the year after his father’s death. Somehow the lust and the love, the affection for her and her belief in the real Alex, turned and twisted, welding a piercing sword that cut and cut and cut.

Through his promises. Through his purpose. Through his confusion.

The wall inside him began to crumble.

He strode to the edge of the hot pool. Throwing off his clothes, he stared into its depths. The water bubbled and steamed, sending wafts of mist into the air. The entire way to the bottom, the water was a clear, silky brew.

Naked, he stepped in.

“Alex.” Her voice rang from behind him in a compelling tone.

Before he found himself turning around to grab her, before he confessed everything, he sank into the water, letting the heat and moisture wash over him, taking him down and down.

He ducked his head under.

H
is golden curls
lay on the water for a moment, like a strewn stream of coins. Then, as he sank further, they disappeared, one coin at a time.

Sophie huffed. He couldn’t stay under indefinitely. At some point, he’d have to emerge from the water and talk. However, she’d probably have more success if she were in the pool with him, pinning him down and understanding what was going on inside him.

Her confidence shook for a moment. Both of them naked meant he could distract her with his perfect moves. He would try it, she knew him. Would it be better if she waited for him in the hut?

Before she could decide if retreat was the best move, his head popped out of the water and he swung his long, wet hair over one broad shoulder. The beauty of his maleness caught in her throat and she lost her train of thought for a moment.

Then, his blue gaze met hers.

A profound silence hummed between them, filled with confusion and desperation, yes. But something more, something far more important.

She clung to this realization and risked her heart. “What counts, Alex?”

His chest rose as he took in a deep breath, but he never broke their gaze, his eyes growing darker and deeper. The silence grew louder, filled with unspoken needs and desires. Sophie wanted to say everything, give him all. Yet in many ways, she already had.

This was his turn, his time.

She kept herself still and silent.

He chuckled, softly, under his breath. “It’s pretty easy, isn’t it?”

“Is it?”

“When it comes down to it.” He moved through the water to the edge of the pool, right next to her. Looking up, he caught her gaze again. “You count.”

Her little, beaten-down heart zoomed into the heavens. “You and me count too?”

“Yes. Us too.” His big hand gestured to her. “Come in here with me.”

Scrambling out of her clothes, she didn’t take one second to think of her big breasts or being naked or how much light there was around them. Because the light shining inside her was so bright, she didn’t have any room for any other emotions or thoughts.

She took his hand in hers, his long fingers coming around her own, tugging her into the water and into his side.

“Right here.” His lean arms circled her, bringing her close. “This is what counts.”

“Yes.” She nestled her head into the arc of his arm and chest.

They stood, letting the clear water swirl around them as the moist air brushed across their skin. There’d been many silences between them, yet she thought all those silences had led into this one. This one of pure, complete wholeness. The shine of sunlight glinted through the mist and Alex started to gently sway them both. Their bodies turned slowly, letting the water wash over their hips, letting the air circle around their dance of love.

“Sophie,” he finally murmured above her head.

Reality returned, not with a smack or a groan, but with a resolute knowledge that whatever came, they’d be together and they’d figure it out together. Leaning back, she looked at him. “Tell me your tragic story.”

His wide mouth twisted. “You’re so sure there is one?”

“There’s something.” She placed her hand on his heart. “Something right here that’s wrong.”

With a swift surge, he lifted her into his arms and waded through the water to the marble shelf where he sat down. She shifted in his embrace until she rested in the center of his lap, relishing his physical response, yet not wanting to make love until her lover was healed.

His eyes were solemn when she met his gaze. “Let’s talk about your dad.”

“There’s my firecracker.” A short, sharp laugh erupted from him. “A missile going straight to the heart of the matter.”

Oh. Her instincts had been right on the mark. The pain in his voice told her they’d entered the center of his agony. Now she only had to extract the phalanx of swords cutting him inside. “Why is your father still troubling you?”

He didn’t answer, his mouth turning grim.

“What’s wrong in the heart of you?” She swept her palm over his chest once more.

“My heart.” He laughed again and this time the sound was bleak. “What a way to put it.”

“A heart that’s mine, right?” She risked all to reach him. A lingering, shivering doubt whispered inside, but it couldn’t defeat her emotional need to find the center of his soul.