A Perfect Wife: International Billionaires V: The Greeks (11 page)

“Aetos.” His name lingered on her lips and he froze as the same feelings he’d experienced when she’d first whispered his name flooded through him. He fought the storm, fought her magic. He glared at her. Waiting for her to strike.

She delivered. As he knew she would.

“You aren’t capable of taking care of your family.”

L
eonidas Kourkoulos stared
at him with dark, determined eyes. “
Thélete na to exi̱gí̱soume af̱tó se ména, ton engonó mou
?”

No, he did not want to explain his behavior to his grandfather. He did not want to explain why he treated his pretend wife with such coldness.

Aetos shrugged and looked down at his laptop perched on his knees, trying to focus on the newest sales statistics from the L.A. and Chicago Tuckermarkets. The low murmur of his grandmother’s voice intermingled with two of his aunts’. A cousin’s soft laughter rose over the babble emanating from the TV. After four days of recovery, his grandfather was allowed as many visitors as he wanted. Which meant this particular hospital room had turned into Grand Central Station.

With Aetos Zenos right in the center.

Due to her manipulation. Her blunt truth. Her threats.

The fear, the inevitable, aching, suffocating fear clutched his throat. He fought past it, sucking a deep breath into his lungs. There was nothing he could do. She’d made it clear. He was going to be forced to endure this until his grandfather was released from the hospital in two more days.

He could handle two more days in his family’s company. In her company.

He could handle anything.

Aetos pinned his determined gaze on the figures scrolling across the screen in front of him.

“
Epiléxate kalá,
” his grandfather said.

He choked back a howl of furious laughter. The idea he’d chosen well when he’d picked the witch was worthy of an Aristophanes comedy. Choice? There’d been no choice. The suggestion he’d had any choice at all in her invasion of his life and his family was a joke so supreme it rivaled any tricks the ancient gods had played on the defenseless humans beneath them.

“
Eínai mia ómorfi̱ kopéla
.”

Lovely? She was lovely?

His grandfather was a fool to say those words.

She wasn’t lovely. She was treacherous. A treacherous weapon ready to slice into his soul.

If he let her.

Which he wouldn’t.

He’d done it for the past three days. After their last confrontation, he’d stayed far away from her. Treated her with cold disregard. Said as little to her as possible.

The family had noticed. Worried looks had passed between them as they observed their prodigal son and his demon bride waging a silent battle. His
giagiá
had muttered and murmured under her breath as she patted the female’s hand in consolation and contemplated him with disappointed eyes.

None of them understood.

The woman was at fault. She was the one who’d thrown the words at him like steel blades. She’d been the one to force him into this no-win situation.

She, the witch.

She, the siren.

She was at fault. Not him.

Her accusation, the truth she’d flung at him before strolling nonchalantly out the hotel door, had been like a wash of acid on the skin of his heart. The burn had glazed him in an unholy blaze which had made him immobile for precious minutes. Minutes the woman had used to escape him and his plan to get rid of her. By the time he’d found her, she was safely enwrapped in his family.

You aren’t capable of taking care of your family
.

He suddenly noticed the pain in his palm. The white-knuckled fist dug his nails into his skin.

Aetos slowly let his fingers fall open on his keyboard.

She was wrong. Utterly wrong. Her accusation wasn’t true. Her accusation was a lie. He sent money to his relatives regularly. He took care of any financial emergencies. He was here, wasn’t he? Here right by his
pappoús’
side.

Because she’d forced him.

His fingers punched the keys in a rapid, rabid tattoo as the ever-present, fearful frustration pulsed inside him. He was trapped. By her.

He’d managed to corner her for one conversation three days ago. But he’d found to his utter disgust that it was he who was the cornered animal again.

One more brutal loss. To her.

“No,” she’d said, her back against the hospital wall. Yet her words and eyes told him he didn’t have her trapped. Quite the contrary. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You have no choice.”

She had the gall to laugh. “Actually, I do. I have all the choices.”

The hair on the back of his neck had prickled with instinctive dread.

Her amethyst eyes had looked at him with pity. “I hold all the cards, Zenos. Admit it.”

“No.” She’d used his last name instead of his first. The realization, along with her look, twisted inside, making his skin tingle with heated anger. “I have the money. So I have—”

“It’s always that with you, isn’t it?” The pity deepened until the color of her eyes turned the deepest violet-black he’d ever seen. “Money isn’t everything. In fact, it’s really nothing.”

“Money is power.” He spat the words, held onto his belief with a practiced fist. “Power is what makes things happen. The way you want them to.”

She sighed once more. With the pity that made him want to wring her long, elegant neck.

“What I want, and will have, is you gone. Gone far away from my family.”

“All right.” She shrugged.

He was stunned to silence. The witch gave in? Left him with no challenge?

“You win.”

The familiar rush of adrenaline when he conquered an enemy, won the prize, took the victory didn’t rise inside him. Instead, he felt hollow.

“I’ll just go,” she waved at the knot of his relatives hovering by the waiting room door, “tell them I’m leaving and why.”

“No.” His hand gripped her elbow, stopping her. “I’ll call the police.”

Her blond brows rose in disdain. “The Athens police are going to be interested in a home invasion in New York City? One that was supposedly committed by a woman you claim as your wife?”

Could he grind his teeth into the truth of her words until they were dust at his feet?

“Don’t be ridiculous. That’s an empty threat and you know it.” Her tone held complete certainty.

“I have security.” He pitched his voice low so the group of family members couldn’t hear his threats. Brutal intent spiked in each vowel and consonant, and he relished it. “They’ll do what I tell them to do.”

The
mágissa
didn’t even flinch. “You’re going to have me dragged from your grandfather’s hospital room in front of all your relatives?”

“I’ll wait until you’re back at the hotel.”

“Where Rhea is now sharing my bedroom. Since you aren’t. She said I must be lonely because you’re not with me.” Her sarcastic smile sent him into a rage.

His hand slapped the wall by her head and for the first time, the female acknowledged a hint of anxiety or wisp of fear.

Her cheeks had blanched.

The wildflower scent had swirled in his brain.

But he’d disregarded it, the danger. The inevitable itch he experienced whenever she was around him scratched beneath his skin, egging him on. He leaned in. “What is this,
gynaíka
? An invitation? Are you lonely without me in your bed?”

She snorted. “You wish.”

Wishes. Wishes were for children. For boys. Wishes were things he’d indulged in when he’d been fifteen and naïve enough to believe in goodness. In women. “I have no wishes.”

Her lush mouth had drooped; her long, gold-tipped lashes fell over her big eyes and then lifted to uncover the damned compassion again. “I feel sorry for you. Very sorry for you, Zenos.”

There’d been some other conversation. Some other directives from the woman. None of it had actually penetrated his brain. Not until hours later. He’d been too involved in punching down the emotional demons she’d set alight in his dark, dimmed soul. Too frantic, too tangled in beating back the spidery spears of memory poking into his gut, gouging him with their poisonous pricks.

Thus, he’d allowed her to escape once more.

Yet that night. That night when he’d sat alone and silent by his grandfather’s side, staring at the green light indicating his
pappoús
still lived. That night he’d realized.

She’d won again.

He couldn’t force her out of the hotel with his relatives observing in horror. He couldn’t announce to his
giagiá
that the woman she’d fallen in love within a few short days was in reality an impostor and a criminal. He couldn’t get on a plane right now and take this female demon back to her punishment, leaving his family alone at this time.

He couldn’t do it.

And she knew it.

“
Ó, ti ypostí̱rixe gia na mi̱n eínai si̱mantikí̱
.” His
pappoús’
voice rumbled from the bed.

Had he truly argued with the witch? His grandfather might think they’d merely quarreled, but the reality was completely different. What had really happened was she’d laid down her female law and he’d complied like a male slave forced into obedience.

A rage rose inside him, so pure and unholy he was amazed it didn’t blast through the room like a nuclear bomb. He realized his palms hurt once more. However, this time, he found no ability to unclench his fists.

“
Prépei na syncho̱roúme o énas ton állon kai na procho̱rí̱soume
.” His grandfather’s eyes were deep wells of wisdom. Yet what he said was complete folly.

Forgive her? Move on?

Forgive her for compelling him to confront the fact he didn’t fit into his family? A realization he’d known when he’d left his homeland, one of many things that had driven him away. An ache he’d forgotten, put aside during the years, much to his relief.

Forgive her for forcing him to acknowledge he couldn’t take care of his family? Not in any way they wanted. The brutal truth had hit him over and over in these last days. His relatives smiled when he paid a bill, but their eyes told the true story. They wanted more. More from him. More of him than he had to give.

He had nothing to give. Nothing of importance. Only money.

Forgive her? Move on?

There was no way he could move on from this boiling fury she’d lit in him. Move on from the blistering heat of lust she’d ignited in him. There was no way he could find his way back to the place he’d been before she slammed into his life. Back to the peace of his work. Back to the endless women who never challenged him or torched his emotions or demanded his attention.

Move on?

“
Emprós loipón
,” his pappoús said, waving his big gnarled hand toward the siren. “
Pi̱gaínete na ti̱ filí̱sei kai ti̱s. Tha sas syncho̱rí̱sei
.”

Go to her? Kiss her?

Fall deeper into the trap she’d set for him?

Even though everything inside him screamed of the danger—the mention of her caused his gaze to slip. Slip and slide and stride from his control to land on her. Every moment in these last four days, he’d struggled to keep his focus on what was important. His business. His family. Not her. Never her.

Gamó̱to ti̱s
. Damn her.

She sat, patiently listening to one of his nieces as she chattered about school. She wore her usual uniform of tight jeans and a simple top. Her hands lay on her lap, relaxed. Her face was serene.

No makeup to highlight her attraction. No glittering jewelry to draw the eye.

None of the usual female tricks he was familiar with and bored with.

Her long hair was pinned to the back of her head, a bundle of moonbeam beauty his fingers, hands, skin tingled to touch. After their last brutal confrontation, another notched win on her belt, she’d appeared each day with her long braid twisted into a mess on top of her head. As if to proclaim she was innocent and pure of any tricks of seduction. As if by pinning her hair down, she could show she hadn’t had any intention of pinning him down.

What a farce.

What a ludicrous farce.

As a female, she would know. She would know she’d planted herself inside him like a demon seed from Hades. Surely she knew. She was only biding her time, waiting for their one kiss, the Circe smile of hers, the way she strutted, all to work her magic on his male libido. Calculating that her charms would worm and dig into his flesh until he couldn't sleep or think.

Then he would be putty in her hands.

She raised her head and held his gaze with her own. The velvet was no longer there when she looked at him. It had firmed to stone. Blank, bitter stone.

Not an invitation in those depths. Not a flash of enticement or temptation.

Good. She’d gotten the message. Very good.

He yanked his attention back to his numbers.

His grandfather huffed his disgust as his hand fell on the sheet. From the corner of his eye, Aetos noted the blunt fingers tapping on the bed. Just as his blunt fingers tapped on the computer keys.

“Natalie.” The abrupt sound of his grandfather’s voice made him jump.

The sound of her name made him sweat.

“Come.” That gnarled hand now waved imperiously at the woman. His pretend wife.

No!

He didn’t want her near or close. He didn’t want her to come beside him with her wildflower scent and burning fire. The dark chug of fear reared its head inside him and he wondered for a moment if he’d yelled the denial out loud.

But no. He hadn’t. Since his pretend wife hadn’t stopped cold in her tracks. Instead, she glided to the other side of the hospital bed, a gentle smile on her rosy lips. He’d noticed—how could he have not noticed?—she’d wound his
pappoús
around her elegant finger with as much ease as she’d wound his
giagiá
.

Those elegant fingers of hers slipped around his grandfather’s blunt ones and held on. “What is it,
Pappoús
?”

He swung his gaze back to his work. Her voice hurt him. The way she said the word.
Pappoús
. She’d been granted the honor as soon as his grandfather had awakened.

This galled him. Riled him.

She called his grandmother
giagiá
just as easily. Just as sweetly. Just as if she had the right.

The names had taken him a year. A solid year of living with them, learning from them, and finally loving them. A year before he’d breached his pain and forced himself to call them
pappoús
and
giagiá
.