“That sounds like another wager,” she said, smiling at the look in his eyes.
His head dipped down until his mouth brushed hers. “One I will happily take, but I should warn you that one of the ways I supported myself when I was in school was by gambling.”
“Horses?” she asked, surprised because he didn’t seem like the type of man who did that.
“Cards. Poker was my specialty. All those rich boys sent off to school with fat allowances were easy pickings for a poor Greek boy who had nothing to lose.”
“You were that good?” she asked, wanting to laugh.
“Better than good.” The look he gave her made her toes curl. “Damned near impossible to beat.”
“Oh, I do love a man who gets cocky,” she said, putting her hands behind her back so she wouldn’t fling herself on him. “I would have thought you’d have learned your lesson when I beat the crap out of you swimming, but no, you just seem to be begging for punishment. You’re on, Mr. Card Shark.”
“After dinner, then,” he said, and the promise in his eyes had nothing to do with poker. He reached beyond her and pulled out a pair of jeans. “Where would you like to eat? We could have dinner in town, or I could have my housekeeper whip up something for us and I could eat it off your naked body.”
She stared at him for a moment, unable to breathe for the images that danced in her head. After five seconds of trying very, very hard not to pounce on him and lick that sweet spot on his neck, and suck on his upper lip, and run her hands through that silky black hair, she managed to swallow and, without a word, she gathered up a few articles of clothing and walked past him into the bathroom.
She found the items of a cosmetic nature she’d brought with her lined up on one of the vanities in the bathroom. She showered, washed the salt out of her hair, and hurriedly dried it, impatient as ever because it seemed to take eons to dry. She was about to twist it up and out of her way when she remembered Iakovos murmuring into her ear as he made love to her on the boat about how much he liked its wild length.
“Just when I was going to cut it, too,” she said, flipping it back and doing a quick check to make sure she was presentable before going off to find him.
A note was taped to the door of his sitting room. “Getting dinner. We’ll eat here. Poker chips in drawer on the left.”
She smiled, then suddenly ran for her laptop that someone had set up on a small writing desk. She was frantically trying to memorize the rules of poker when Iakovos came into the room, a bottle of champagne and two glasses in one hand and an odd expression on his face.
“Eglantine,” he said, setting the glasses down.
“Yacky,” she said, hurriedly closing the Web browser.
“My brother is lying in the south hall, unconscious, with what appears to be a broken nose. I don’t suppose you know anything about that?”
She adopted an expression of complete innocence. “Now, why would you even think to ask me that?”
His expression grew grim as he pulled her to her feet, his thumb running over her fingers. “Did he do something to make you defend yourself?”
“I told you he was drunk,” she said carefully.
“What did he do?”
There was an edge to his voice that she didn’t like. Although she had no intention of putting up with any crap from Theo, she didn’t want to cause dissent between the brothers. An angry Iakovos would probably be less likely to see to it that his brother got help than if he was in a more understanding mood.
“He seemed to think that I was after you for your money, for one thing.”
He made a dismissive nose. “You’re not.”
“No, I’m not, but I suppose it’s a natural assumption on his part. Is he jealous of you, by any chance? Because you’re more good-looking, and older, and a world’s most sexy billionaire?”
“Not that I know of, and thank you for the compliment of assuming he would be jealous of me and not vice versa. What did he do to upset you, Harry?”
“Tried to kiss me,” she finally said, uncomfortable with the idea of lying to him.
“I’ll kill him.”
She grabbed his arm as he turned away, his jaw tight, his eyes glittering. “That’s overreacting a little, don’t you think? He didn’t succeed, after all, and I decked him good and proper. Do you really think his nose is broken? I wasn’t shooting for that, but honestly, I can’t help but think it might teach him a lesson if it is.”
“It’s broken. I set it right after I dumped him in his room.”
She gawked at him for a moment. “You know how to set a broken nose?”
“Yes. Let go of me, Eglantine.”
“Like hell I will, Yacky. It doesn’t matter—it really doesn’t.”
The eyes he turned on her burned with anger, his face beautiful in its fury. “My brother tries to kiss my lover and you don’t think that matters? I don’t know what sort of man you were with before, but Greek men do not take kindly to others poaching their women, and I am no exception to that rule.”
“Maybe he didn’t know we were . . . that we’ve been . . .” She gestured between them.
“He knows,” Iakovos snapped.
“What exactly are we? I don’t quite know what to call us. Are we dating? A couple? An item? Are you officially my boyfriend, because if you are, I’m going to call up every single one of my female friends, and not only tell them that my boyfriend is the handsomest man who ever walked the earth, I’m going to send them pictures of you in your swimsuit so they can suffer exquisitely knowing that I get to lick you and touch you and sleep with you, and they don’t.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “It’s going to be one of the best moments of my life!”
“Harry,” he said, shoving a hand through his hair, “are you trying to distract me so I won’t go throttle my brother?”
“Yes. Is it working?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” She paused, then added, “Although I am serious about the picture thing. Would you mind posing for me tomorrow? And maybe we could get a couple of shots of us together? Because one of my friends will accuse me of just stalking you if I don’t have shots of us together. Maybe one of you kissing me. And one where I’m touching your bare chest. Or would it look better to be sitting on your lap? Hmm.”
He took a deep breath. She was going to kill him. He knew this. He accepted it about her. She was going to casually drop bombs like this, that his swine of a brother had touched her—and he didn’t for one moment think that Theo had just threatened to do so; for Harry to defend herself by force meant that she felt threatened by the situation—and then expect him to do nothing about it.
Well, she had something to learn about him. No one touched her. She was his tempest, his goddess, and he was aware that the emotions scorching his belly went far beyond the normal anger of a man whose woman was approached by another. He knew at that moment that he would move heaven and earth to keep her safe. She was his, pure and simple, and if Theo even so much as cast an unwise look her way, he’d send him packing so fast he wouldn’t know what hit him.
“Iakovos?”
He pulled his attention away from the dark thoughts of what he would like to do to Theo, and focused them again on the woman who stood before him dressed in a flowing, gauzy flame-colored shirt edged with beading, and wide, loose matching trousers that clung to her hips. He cast his mind back to what she had been saying. “You can call me whatever you want, and stop looking guilty. I’m not going to thrash Theo, even though he deserves it. We’ll have some champagne, the dinner that should be here shortly, and then I will make love to you until you stop thinking about showing pictures of me to your friends and start thinking about the ways you’re going to placate my anger about not telling me the minute Theo approached you.”
“Are you an easy man to placate?” she asked.
“No.” He reached for her, his hands in her wild mane, feeling his testicles tighten even as his sex swelled. “Feel free to be as inventiv
e as you like with your attempt to sweeten my temper.”
She giggled as she boldly cupped him, making him groan. “You’re talking to a writer, Iakovos. My imagination is my stock-in-trade, and I assure you, I plan on devoting all my attention to making you crazy with desire.”
“You already do that,” he murmured, about to kiss her. He stopped when a knock sounded on the door, and his housekeeper, Rosalia, entered bearing a tray, her husband, Spyros, following with another.
Rosalia flicked a look at Harry, who blushed and moved away from Iakovos.
He knew that Rosalia, originally employed as Theo’s and Elena’s nurse, was interested to see the woman who claimed his attention. She hadn’t liked the last woman he had been with, and had made her displeasure quite clear, but if she thought she was going to do anything that made Harry the least bit uncomfortable, he would have no compunction in reminding her who paid her wages.
“This is Rosalia,” he said after receiving a pointed look from that same woman.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Harry said, offering her hand.
Rosalia set down the tray and looked at the hand for a moment before taking it and giving it a perfunctory shake.
“Here, let me help you.” Harry bundled her laptop and bag off the table. “That smells delicious, whatever it is.”
“This is Spyros, Rosalia’s husband. He doesn’t speak English.”
“We’ve met,” Harry said, her eyes dancing with secret mirth as she offered her hand to Spyros. The old man set down his tray, wiping his hands on his trousers before shaking her hand, telling her in Greek that she was a pleasant change from the last woman Iakovos had brought to the island.
Harry smiled a little uncertainly, her eyes shifting to his for a translation.
“He’s saying welcome,” Iakovos said, giving his employees a gimlet eye.
Rosalia had been arranging the plates and dishes on the table, her eyes on Harry. “Is this the one responsible for the mess in the hall?” She also spoke in Greek, her dark gaze piercing him with a look that would tolerate no attempt to shield the truth.
Iakovos sighed to himself. Theo was an especial favorite of Rosalia’s. She had always been willing to overlook even the most embarrassing of situations that his brother found himself in. “Yes.”
To his surprise, her lips curled into a smile as she nodded at Harry. “This one is not like the others.”
“No, she’s not.”
“You do not mess things up this time,” she said with a warning glance his way as she collected the trays and started toward the door. “She does not have her nose in the air like the others. She will give you strong sons.”
Rosalia sailed out of the door with a grinning Spyros trailing behind her.
“Oh dear,” Harry said, looking worried. “Something tells me that didn’t go well. Did I do something wrong? Or does she just not like you having women here?”
“Actually, she told me not to mess things up with you.”
Harry brightened up at that. “She did? What a nice woman. Intelligent, too. I hope you take her words to heart.”
He popped the cork on the champagne bottle, telling himself that he would never be able to guess what would come out of her mouth next. She was a delight, a wild, unexpected delight. “Every other woman I’ve brought here has been concerned with keeping me happy and pandering to my every desire. Not one has ever told me I had better not mess things up.”
“Seriously?” She took the glass he handed her, her eyes wide as she examined his face. “That had to get old fast.”
“It did. Harry?”
“Yes, Iakovos?”
“Eat your dinner.” One side of his mouth went up as he let her see the desire in his eyes. “As I mentioned this morning, you’re going to need your strength.”
CHAPTER 7
It wasn’t easy, but Harry managed to tear herself away from Iakovos’ bed the next morning. She was actually rather proud of the feat, since he had made noises about staying in bed until the concert that night, but she finally convinced him that she really had to honor her duties and make sure that Cyndi had recovered from her trauma, as well as ensuring that all was going smoothly for the evening’s event.
She wore the same taupe linen tunic and pants that she had worn the first day, the buttons having magically been sewn back on and the clothing laundered, a circumstance that had sent her to locate Rosalia to thank her for the attention.
“It is no problem,” the older woman said, standing in the middle of a busy kitchen. Despite being somewhat nervous about approaching Rosalia, Harry liked the woman. She had thick black hair streaked with white and pulled back in a bun, a face that showed her life hadn’t always been one of ease, and a no-nonsense air that made Harry relax despite the circumstances.
“I appreciate you cleaning my things. I didn’t bring much with me because I figured we’d be here just for a couple of days.” Harry spoke carefully, not wanting to give the impression that she was taking it for granted that Iakovos would ask her to stay on when the band went home. She was pretty sure he would, but she’d never been one to assume.
“Kyrie Papaioannou, he will buy you more. You do not worry,” the woman said.
“I’m sure he would if I asked him to, but there’s no need to do that. If I want something, I’m sure I can get it in town. I just wanted to say thank you for the buttons and for doing my laundry.”
The woman inclined her head in acknowledgment of the thanks, saying, as Harry was leaving the kitchen, “You like it here, yes? Greece pleases you?”
There was a question in Rosalia’s eyes that had nothing to do with the country, and everything to do with one man. “Yes,” Harry said slowly, meeting her gaze. “I love everything about Greece.”
“Good,” the woman said, nodding abruptly. “You go, now. We are busy for the party.”
Harry smiled and left the kitchen, feeling as if she’d just passed a test.
The smile faded when, as she strolled across the grassy lawn outside the staff bungalows, she was greeted with, “Houston, we have a problem.”
“A problem?” she asked Derek, who was facing her with a grim expression. “What problem? Iakovos said you guys had gone over to the mainland with his sister and her friends last night. Did something happen there?”
“Iakovos?” Derek asked, looking at her with much speculation. Like Terry and Amy, he was in a swimsuit, the three of them lounging on a couple of chairs, the damp towels at their feet indicating they’d had a dip in the lovely blue-green water.
“Mr. Papamono . . . oh, don’t ask me to say his last name, it has way too many vowels. And stop giving me that knowing look. What I do with billionaire Greek playboys who own their own islands and have incredibly wonderful butts is no one’s business but my own.”
“But he’s, like, old,” Terry said with the naïveté of a nineteen-year-old. “That secretary dude of his said that he’s a lot older than his sister.”
“He’s not old at all! He’s in perfect shape.” Heat rolled up from her chest as she remembered just exactly how perfect his shape was.
“I suppose it doesn’t matter since you’re—” Terry shut his mouth quickly.
“Old, as well?” she asked, giving him a glare.
“Not old. Just . . . seasoned?” he asked with what she was sure he felt was a charming smile.
“It’s not like I’m ancient, for heaven’s sake. I could be your sister, after all.”
The three of them looked at her in silence.
“OK, a really, really older sister, but a sister nonetheless. What problem do we have? And where’s Cyndi?”
“Cyndi is the problem,” Amy said, taking Derek’s hand.
“She’s not all right?” Harry glanced around. “Where is she?”
“She’s not here, Harry. She walked out last night.”
“She what?”
Amy nodded. “We tried to get you on your phone, but it just went through to your voice mail.”
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“Oh my god.” Harry put both hands to her head, rubbing, as a sudden headache had blossomed there. “I left my cell behind yesterday because Iakovos said I could use his if I needed to.”
“You weren’t in your room, either,” Terry pointed out, his eyes twinkling.
“No, I . . . er . . . I’m staying with Iakovos. Oh my god. She left? Why?”
“She said she’s not going to stay here, that she can’t face that guy who didn’t want her, and she’s a bundle of nerves, and oh, all sorts of things about needing a break from the stress.” Amy looked almost scared.
Harry stared at the girl in horror, goose bumps making her back twitch. “She can’t do that, can she? Don’t you guys have some sort of a contract?”
“We do, and she can. She did.” Terry looked at his watch. “She’s booked a flight out of Athens today.”
Harry sat down suddenly on a nearby chair, her legs wobbly. “Holy moly. Well, we just have to get her back. Athens is only a couple of hours away—there’s still time for her to get back here before the party. I’ll call her. I’ll reason with her.”
“It won’t do any good,” Amy said. “We’ve all tried.”
Harry thought of Iakovos’ delectable lips. She didn’t want to see them tight with anger, and he was sure to be angry when he found out that the lead singer of the group he’d flown out at no little expense had done a runner. He wouldn’t be angry with her, personally, but he wouldn’t be happy. She liked him when he was happy. He teased her with outrageous statements, and touched her, and let her lick his upper lip. She loved his lips. She especially loved them when they were doing things to her body that just thinking about made her skin feel tight. “Yes, well, you might not be as motivated as me.”
Forty minutes later, Harry conceded defeat and clicked off her cell phone. She looked at the three anxious faces watching her. “She won’t listen.”
“I told you she wouldn’t. She’s really rattled by this, Harry.”
“I could call Tim . . . but he was due to be in the hospital for another couple of days, and besides, Jill’s about to give birth . . . Dammit. Why did Cyndi have to be such a twit and try to sleep with Theo?” Harry stood up and began to pace. “Well, we’re just going to have to cope with the three of you. Let’s see . . . Amy, you know Cyndi’s songs as well as your own, don’t you?”