A Perfect Man: International Billionaires IV: The Greeks (9 page)

“Well, that’s settled.” Jade zoomed into the conversation, her white teeth blazing, her dark gaze sparkling. “What I want to know is when the dancing starts?”

Dancing. With Alex Stravoudas. She sucked in her tummy and tried not to get in a tizzy. It wasn’t that she didn’t like to dance. She did. It was the fact that dancing with Mr. Perfect was not on her list of wonderful things to do.

He was too tall.

She was too short.

They wouldn’t fit.

“Knowing my mother, dancing will come after dinner.” Alexander swung his gaze away from staring at her face and she took in a deep breath of something almost like relief. Which made no sense.

“Sophie!” Her mother’s cry rose above the crowd surrounding them. A round, pudgy hand slipped in between Jade and her man, Antony, and pushed. Margaret Feuer appeared in front of them, her husband lumbering behind her. A flurry of hugs and kisses commenced, reminding Sophie how much she missed them.

“I’m glad to see you both,” she admitted, although the situation wasn’t optimal.

Her father patted her cheek. “We got busy exploring this incredible place and didn’t realize you’d arrived.”

Her mother’s beaming smile took in her daughter and then her attention switched to the man by her side. “My, my.” Her hands went to her plump cheeks. “Aren’t you beautiful.”

Alex laughed again.

Sophie frowned.

Erich Feuer thrust out a hand. “Glad to finally meet you.”

Her fake fiancé reached his own hand out to grab her father’s.

Noticing how small her father’s hand was in comparison to Alex’s, her frown deepened.

She’d always thought her dad’s hands were the best part of him. As a kid, she’d been in awe of what his hands made every day. She’d watch him roll out the dough, watched him knead his bread, watched him as he gently pulled the loaves from the oven. Her dad’s hand had always held hers when they took a walk in Central Park. His hand had patted her cheek when she’d received her diploma. And his hands had nailed the
Pure Pastry
sign outside her business’s front door.

Her dad’s hand appeared small cupped in Alexander the Great’s mighty grip.

“Good to meet both of you.” The charm oozed from Mr. Perfect. “Sophia’s told me quite a bit about both of you.”

Could she snort? Was that allowed at your own engagement party when your fake fiancé charmed your parents with a complete lie?

“No, no.” Her mother brushed Alexander’s hand away. “I need a hug.”

This farce was getting out of control. “Mom, really—”

“Let her have her fun with your young man.” Her dad snatched Sophie into his arms once more and gave her another big hug. “You look wonderful, Princess.”

His compliment made her remember the dress. Had he noticed? A streak of apprehension ran through her. “Daddy.”

He drew back yet kept his hands on her shoulders. “We’re sorry we couldn’t get here before this afternoon.”

“I couldn’t shake that pesky flu,” her mother piped in from Alex’s arms. “I didn’t want to give it to both of you.”

“But we’re here for your big ball and next week is Thanksgiving. Can’t wait for some of your aunt’s stuffing.” Her father smiled, his jowls creasing, his shaggy brows arching over brown eyes. “Then we’ll stick around to help at your bakery while you’re in Paris.”

“Dad, you don’t have to—”

“Now, now.” He waved her objection away. “I’ve talked about this with Tamika and she says they need the help.”

She would feel better about having more hands on deck while she spent a week in Paris. Besides, her dad knew the business. “Okay. Well, that’s great.”

Her dad’s attention, however, had been distracted.

His hands tightened on her bare shoulders. Erich Feuer’s eyes went wide as he took in her gown. “Sophie.”

“My goodness. I didn’t notice because of your Alex.” Her mom rushed over to gaze at her in astonishment. “Your dress.”

She fought the blush threatening to turn her into a tomato. She fought the self-consciousness about her body she’d carried around since the age of seventeen. And she fought her impulse to run and hide. “It’s only a dress.”

“Sophie.” Her mom grabbed her hands, sudden tears on her cheeks. “I know it’s so much more.”

“You are lovely, Princess.” Her dad’s eyes were rimmed with red. “I’m proud of you.”

The fake fiancé didn’t miss anything. His perceptive gaze switched from one parent to another. “Is there a problem?”

“She hasn’t confided in you?” A look of determination crossed her mother’s face as if she’d found a new mission: tell the fiancé everything about her daughter.

Abject horror filled every inch of Sophie’s soul. She glanced around, frantic to find some diversion, but the rest of the crowd had moved back, respecting the reunion. “Mom—”

“That awful teenage boy.” Margaret Feuer shook her head. “Disgusting what he did to—”

“Mom.” Habit brought her arms around to fold in front of her breasts. “There wasn’t anything—”

“He hurt my little girl,” her father chimed in. “However, it looks like all is well now since my daughter is confident enough to wear this dress.”

“A dress I chose for her,” Alexander mused.

“Seriously?” her mom beamed. “And she agreed?”

“You chose this?” Instant rage swept away her embarrassment. “You told me—”

“I believe it’s time for dinner.” Her lying fake fiancé smiled at the surrounding crowd. “Better find our seats.”

What he said was true, the waiters were bringing out platters of food and placing them on long tables lined along the polished granite walls. Clutching her elbow, her deceitful dictator made for the center table.

“You have some explaining to do.” She wrenched her arm from his grasp and stomped ahead of him.

“You do, too.” His words drifted from behind. “I sense a tragic story.”

“One you’ll never hear,” she muttered under her breath.

The center table was larger than the rest. His mother and sisters were already seated along with what must be husbands and children. There were four empty chairs, two of which had placement cards with her parents’ names scrolled across them. The last two seats held two sparkly gold crowns.

“Because you’re the princess and prince of the ball.” A tiny, blonde girl blurted out as she leaned on one of the Stravoudas stars.

Her mother smoothed a hand across the child’s head and smiled. “Come on, Alex,” she teased. “Be a prince.”

He laughed and scooped up a crown. Hers. “Let me do the honors.”

“This is ridic—”

“Don’t disappoint the children.” He stuck the crown into her curls.

“Your turn! Your turn!” crowed the little girl.

Laughing again, he placed the crown on the top of his head. Then he glanced at Sophie and smiled. The smile was wide and real and warm. A shock of painful delight rocketed through her blasting away some of her anger at his deception with the dress.

“Uncle Alex.” A small boy, with a fluff of white hair, bounded forward. His grin included several large gaps where teeth had once been. “Mom told me you’re still getting hitched.”

“Yes, George.” He bent down to ruffle the boy’s hair.

“To a different girl, though.” The boy turned and eyed Sophie. “Are you it?”

She stifled a laugh and grinned instead. This wasn’t the time to rip into Alexander the Liar so she might as well enjoy herself. “I’m it.”

The little boy stared at her hard. Another Stravoudas inspection.

She made a face at him.

The kid giggled. “You’re funny.”

“Funny?” Mr. Perfect murmured beside her. “Sophia Feuer? Funny?”

Before she thought it through, she swung around and stuck her tongue out at him.

Alex Stravoudas gazed at her with…fascination. Plus, something else. “Don’t give me ideas.”

Sophie sucked her tongue back in her mouth with a snap.

Philip guffawed. “Mom, did you see—”

“Yes, I saw.” One of the leggy sisters slanted a smile Sophie’s way and then waved at her son. “Come and sit down now. Time to eat.”

She reached for her chair, but before she could grab it, Alexander’s big hand was there. “Allow me.”

His tone was filled with snark. Sophie glanced over to meet a gaze still edged with the lingering something she didn’t want to define. “I’m able to—”

“I’m your fiancé.” The blue eyes went steely. “And a gentleman.”

What was it with this guy? Shoes in a specific place. Clothes in a certain way. Doors opened by particular people. “I can do this myself.”

“That’s not the point.” He pulled the black-and-gold chair out as his mouth firmed. “Please sit.”

Her mother and father walked to their chairs and both of them gave her a look. A look she’d received many times in childhood: Behave.

She plopped onto the red-cushioned seat with a disgruntled snort.

A whisper of a hot finger slid along her neck, down her spine. From the nape of her hair to the edge of her dress. Shock tightened her muscles as a riot of goose bumps flared along its wake. She couldn’t stop her shivered reaction.

“Cold, Sophia?” The finger slid back up her spine.

What was he doing? She tried to focus on the china and silver in front of her, but the touch, the heated stroke, burned her brain. He wasn’t touching her with want or need.

No, he wasn’t.

His breath brushed her ear. “I want to hear your tragic story.”

No, he didn’t.

“Then I want you to stick your tongue out again.”

The heat of a blush bloomed under her skin. He couldn’t possibly mean what her wild imagination evoked in a split second.

No, he couldn’t.

She sensed him, moving behind her. The chair beside her was pulled out and he sat, turning to respond to one of his sisters.

Sophie sighed with relief.

A series of courses flew by. Crab cakes, the breading light and flaky. Chicken Française over noodles, the lemon and garlic sauce rich with egg and butter. And finally, lemon crème brûlée with a garnish of chocolate-dipped strawberries.

She choked down enough to keep everyone off her case.

Except for him.

“Are you sick?” he murmured after her breast of chicken had sat on its noodles untouched for several minutes.

“I’m fine.”

“Usually, you gobble down every dinner I serve you.”

A flush of mortification threatened to explode across her cheeks. She never blushed anymore. Not since she’d left her teenage years behind. Anger rushed back at the realization. “I never asked you to feed me.”

“That wasn’t my point.” He twirled a fork in his noodles. “What I’m saying is you aren’t a girl to ignore her food.”

Echoes of the past banged inside her head.

The fat girl. A cow. Her udders.

“I’m sorry.”

Her head swiveled and before she could stop herself, she found her gaze latched onto his. “What?”

“Your face.” His eyes narrowed. “I could tell by your expression that whatever I said upset you.”

“No, not at all.” She looked away, smoothing her hand across the purple silk of her dress.

“That’s why I apologized.”

She glanced back at him.

“I meant it.” His eyes were intense and focused. “Believe it.”

Something stuttered inside. Part heart, part confidence. He meant it. She could tell. And the fact, added to the warm grin he’d recently given her, shook her deep inside.

She tore her gaze from his and stared at the uneaten strawberry.

A clink of a spoon on a crystal glass broke the concentrated air between them. She shot a look up and met Ceci’s gleaming smile on the other side of the table. His sister’s spoon clinked once more.

Another spoon joined the noise.

Then another.

Soon there was a chorus of clinking crystal pings circling the hall.

Sophie knew exactly what this meant and she wanted nothing to do with it. She wanted to say
heck, no
. Instead, she pretended to ignore the whole thing.

She bit into the strawberry.

“Sophia.” His voice came close to her ear and was filled with humor. “Don’t pretend. You know what they want.”

She sucked on the berry.

“Kiss! Kiss!” Ceci started the chant, but soon the entire crowd joined in.

A low chuckle came from her side. “We’re going to have to do this.”

She chewed slowly.

“Come on.” His big hand gripped her elbow and pulled her from the chair. He turned her until she found herself staring at the shiny silver tie he wore.

“Hey.” A long finger traced along her neck and then nudged her chin higher.

She swallowed and looked at him.

His wide mouth smiled. His blue eyes gleamed. His hand grazed her jaw, landing on the back of her neck. “Kiss me, Sophia.”

H
e could not get
the kiss out of his head.

Along with other things he didn’t want to think about.

Alex flipped the hydraulic switch and eased back in the co-pilot chair.

His pilot, George, who’d been flying Henry and Alex around since their first overseas architectural project, glanced over.

“What?” he said with irritation. The glance hadn’t been the first shot his way since they’d taken off from LaGuardia four hours ago.

The pilot tapped one of the myriad switches on the panel. “I don’t usually get the pleasure of your company for such a long stretch.”

He flicked a piece of lint off his wool pants. “Piloting is a stress relief.”

“You’re saying you’re more stressed than usual?” George focused on the LCD screen in front of him as if the question were a mere throwaway.

But he knew better. George had become a good friend during the long hours of travel in the past ten years. He knew him better than most. “Nothing to worry about.”

Another glance. “Whatever you say.”

A sudden burst of laughter floated in from the cabin. Alex immediately picked out Sophia’s chortle among the half dozen other voices.

The kiss, a kiss that had happened more than a week ago, flew right back into the center of his brain.

He leaned forward and focused on the screen in front of him. “Our altitude is a bit low.”

“I’m assuming you can fix that yourself.”

Alex sent the pilot a sullen glance before grabbing the thrust lever.

None of this activity did any good at smothering his errant thoughts.

The memory of how her brown eyes had narrowed at his command to kiss him. The surprise he’d felt when she’d suddenly tugged on his tie to pull his lips to hers. The touch of her tiny bow mouth as it first met his.

He wasn’t spending all this time in the cockpit only because he needed to think about the next big architectural deal before they landed in Paris.

No, the biggest reason was…he was hiding.

Hiding from her and that mouth.

The mouth he no longer looked at with dread, waiting for her to snap some feisty putdown. Now, since that kiss a week ago, he’d found it impossible to keep his gaze off her lips, anticipating what it would be like to kiss her once more. After her reaction to their kiss, the likelihood of that happening anytime soon was slim to none. Because of this realization, he’d spent the last week at work putting in eighteen hours a day. He’d excused his fake fiancée from his family’s Thanksgiving event all together and managed to limit his visit to her aunt’s house to a mere hour on the holiday. Arranging separate rides to the airport today, he had promptly walked into the cockpit for the flight to Paris.

“Looks like you’ve adjusted the altitude.”

Alex turned to meet George’s gaze. “Yeah.”

“Want to talk about it?” The pilot’s eyes were keen.

Another flare of laughter erupted from behind them.

“Nothing to talk about.”

George swung back to his screen, his mouth twisted in a wry smile.

There had been a lot of laughter for the last four hours. Something that rarely happened on their flights. Generally, he and Henry would be hunched over the large center table going through final numbers, final plans, final drafts, while their PAs frantically typed and the flight crew filled coffee cup after coffee cup.

The laughter came again.

“Seems to be a happy group this time around,” George observed.

He grunted.

“Which may explain why you are here and they are out there.”

Alex didn’t respond. Instead, he stared into the black night. They’d be landing in Paris in four hours and the sudden stark recognition of this made his head throb. He’d avoided thinking about this deal during the last month. What it meant for his future. What it meant for the next three years of his life. In its place, he’d focused on his anger at Sophia Feuer and how many times he could rile her every time they saw each other.

But now it hit him.

Three years of his life. He’d be forty before this skyscraper would be completed.

“She’s a sparkler, that’s for sure.”

“A what?” He wrenched his head around to stare at the pilot.

“Your new girl.” George kept his eyes on the LCD.

“A sparkler?”

“It’s a saying of my dad’s.” His friend gave him a grin. “Means she’s full of life.”

The nickname that had slipped from his mouth at their golden ball came back to him.

Krotída mou.

His dad hadn’t taught his kids much of his native tongue, yet he had taught them the word they’d used every Fourth of July. His dad said it was a way of bringing his old homeland into the celebration of his new one.

Krotída
.

Firecracker.

How appropriate for a woman who’d blown up his engagement. What bothered him about the nickname, though, was not the accuracy of the tag, it was what had slipped out of his mouth after it.

Mou
. My.

His firecracker? God forbid.

“Can’t say she’s much like your first one.”

“What does that mean?” Knee-jerk hostility flared.

“Don’t get on your high horse.” George’s tone stayed mild. “I only meant the first one wasn’t right for you.”

The memory of Melanie at the ball—her graceful arm weaved around her new guy’s burly bicep, her dazzling face as dazzling as he remembered, her voice as gracious as ever—the memory coursed through him and left in its wake…

Nothing.

Nothing but a vague fondness and the awareness his pilot was right.

Along with somebody else.

Melanie and you aren
’
t right together. In fact, you’re very, very wrong
.

Sophia’s face floated into his memory, replacing his ex-fiancée’s. Her little round face had been scrunched in a scowl when she’d spat those words at him right before slamming the engagement ring on his office desk. He’d been filled with a rage so pure and strong he’d thought he’d never release it or let it go.

She had been right.

The realization stung and contrarily, it managed to stoke his rage at her even more.

“She was prettier than this new one.” The pilot grabbed his ever-present Coke can. He took a slug before continuing. “This one, though, has more…”

“More what?” Alex couldn’t understand why he was tolerating this conversation. He and George didn’t normally spend any time on personal discussions, yet for some stupid reason, he couldn’t let this one stop.

“She’s got more moxie, more zest.” The other man frowned in concentration. “She fits you better.”

He snorted.

“No, really.” George put his drink down and went back to staring at the LCD screen. “I know you, Stravoudas. You’d have rolled right over the last one.”

“You’re starting to sound like some TV psychologist.”

“Maybe.” His friend gave him another glance. “I will tell you I took one look at your new gal and saw that she’s no rollover.”

“Enough of the observations.”

George chuckled softly. But he obeyed the dictate and silence descended, broken only by the whistle of the wind and burr of the airplane engine.

His friend’s observation was true, though. Sophia hadn’t rolled over in front of his mother and sisters. He still didn’t understand how it had happened. How his aloof mother had abruptly started to mouth absurdities like
catching him
and
holding him in the palm of her hand
. How Ceci had been delighted with his new choice and let him know it. How his other sisters had pronounced his fake fiancée perfect for him. He didn’t get how a plump, stubby woman could capture his family’s interest and captivate them within one evening.

Even though she had stuck her tongue out at him, much to his family’s stunned delight.

That tongue. That tongue had been a surprise to him too.

Not because she stuck it out at him in defiance. He expected that from her. The surprise had come when she stuck it into his mouth.

The cockpit door opened. “Alex.”

He glanced over his shoulder and met his PA, Christine’s, gaze. “What?”

“It’s time to eat.” She waved behind her into the cabin, the bubble of voices babbling about some new movie they’d all seen growing louder. “Plus, Henry keeps making noises about working.”

The final bid on the skyscraper.

Three years of his life.

“Although, for Henry, the demands are rather mild.” Christine smiled, an ironic curve to her mouth. “Sophie’s so much fun, she distracts him.”

She’d also distracted Alex a week ago.

With her tongue.

“George?” His PA turned to the pilot. “Do you want me to call the co-pilot in so you can eat with us?”

“Nah.” His friend took another swig of Coke. “I’m good for now.”

Another gust of laughter broke through the conversation. Alex heard Sophie’s voice pipe in, though he couldn’t make out what she said. Whatever she said, the reply was another outbreak of merriment.

He didn’t feel like laughing.

He didn’t feel like nailing down the final details of the deal.

And he especially didn’t feel like staring at Sophia’s mouth.

He forced a smile. “I’m good right now, too—”

“No, you don’t.” Christine reached across and tugged on his arm. “Time to join the group.”

“Go on,” George chimed in. “I’ve had enough of your grouchy company for this trip.”

“Grouchy?” His PA’s eyebrows rose. “Why are you grouchy?”

“I’m not grouchy.”

“Prove it.” His pilot gestured towards the cabin.

“Fine.” He didn’t have to hide from her. Or the deal. Everything was fine. He could handle Sophia Feuer and this new deal just as he handled all the details in his life. He stood, ducking his head as he stepped into the cabin.

“He lives,” Henry crowed.

“I was beginning to think you had missed the flight,” Henry’s PA, Andrea, stated with a sly grin.

The smile on Sophia’s face fell off as soon as she turned to look at him.

The reaction instantly swamped all his good intentions about ignoring her and focusing on the deal. Instead, the somnolent rage inside blasted to life. “My fiancée knows how to entertain, though, doesn’t she? She certainly makes me laugh.”

The edge in his voice, the casual scorn he used only with this woman, caused every other smile in the group of six to disappear in a split second.

Everyone went silent.

Sophia’s eyes narrowed. Her brown hair was pulled into her usual tight ponytail and she wore a pair of ragged jeans and a baggy yellow T-shirt that turned her skin sallow. She’d come directly from her bakery to the airport for their three p.m. flight and it showed.

She was a catastrophe. In so many ways.

Familiar irritation welled, twining around the rage.

She was an embarrassment sitting there. It was an embarrassment that she’d been accepted as his fiancée. How could his colleagues and staff believe he’d be with her?

“I live to serve you and your court, your Highness.” She grinned, but her brown eyes were filled with hostility.

The other five passengers laughed nervously. They all glanced back and forth between Alex and Sophia. Ready for the next shot, apparently.

He didn’t disappoint. “If you live to serve then please promise me I won’t see that T-shirt any more in my lifetime.”

She looked down and then up, her grin turning evil. “I plan on wearing it every day in Paris.”

“Heaven help all of us.” His tone conveyed horror, yet he had to admit contradictory relief swam through him. She looked nothing like she had a week ago at their ball. No longer did he have to contend with how her natural lashes were extraordinarily long and lavish with a touch of mascara.

Or how the dress had pushed her impressive breasts into prominence.

Or how her waist had been tiny and the curve of her hip lush.

When she’d marched from her bedroom ready for their engagement ball, her breasts bouncing, he’d managed to keep his tongue from rolling onto the floor. Still, he hadn’t stopped himself from teasing her in the limo or making suggestive comments at the party because he hadn’t realized the danger he’d been in. Even after he’d stupidly touched the delicate string of bumps on her spine, he’d thought he’d been merely playing a game to get a rise out of her.

Not until she’d pulled him into a kiss and he’d tasted her, tasted the flame and flare of her, had he realized he’d been playing with fire.

Playing with a firecracker.

“I know how much you care about clothing, Alexander.” Her tone implied he was something less than a man and the long drawn out vowels of his name made the rage beat inside his blood. “But I’m sure you’ll be way too busy charming your emir to care about what I’m wearing.”

“True, very true.” Henry stepped into the fray. “It appears as if both of you need a bit of Paris magic to turn you back into the lovers I saw at your engagement party.”

Lovers.

With Sophia.

The thought shot right into the center of him with a searing strike. The rapid string of images following the blow couldn’t be stopped. Sophia naked on his bed, her opulent breasts and lithe waist curving into rounded hips and plump thighs. Sophia pulling his body down onto hers, using that talented tongue to drive him insane. Sophia smoothing her tiny hands down and down to his rock-hard—

“Who doesn’t love Alexander?” The long vowels of his name practically crawled across the room to bite him. “I know a prince when I see him.”

She shot him an acid glare that stated in clear, cold detail,
you are no prince
.

“And my fiancée will always be perfect in my eyes.”
Perfectly awful,
his gaze shot back.

The silence following that statement was filled with doubt.

“Well,” Henry clapped his hands with a pasted smile on his face. “Let’s dig into the sandwiches and then you and me, Alex, have some work to do.”

Work on the deal that tied him to three long years in an Arab desert making sure every detail he’d designed was constructed correctly.

Three years.

He yanked out a chair and sat down.

They ate around the center table, Sophia and her camera man, Will, and producer, Jake, lined up on the cream couch, while Henry, Christine, and Andrea sat on the other side in plush chairs.