Nine Months To Tame The Tycoon by Chantelle Shaw, Annie West

CHAPTER ONE

STRATOCROSSEDTHEsoft white sand of a tiny beach, heading for a cluster of trees. The swim had made his blood pump and with it had come a possible solution to a business problem that had kept him awake into the night.

It suited him to concentrate on that, rather than the error he’d made inviting Lene and Liv aboard.

He dropped to the sand where an overhanging branch provided shade and stretched out, telling himself to focus on the difficulty his Asian headquarters had raised.

Sometime later a pulsing noise made him look up. There was his chopper, rising from the yacht’s helipad. His guests must have decided to head back to the city straight away, to seek out some new sponsor as soon as possible.

Strato’s mouth twisted. His lapse of judgement with that pair had left him feeling strangely...diminished. He frowned over the sensation.

Could it be that his deliberate choice of shallow, undemanding relationships was making him shallow too?

But he could see no way to avoid that. He didn’t want people trying to get close. Yet most of the women who were happy with short, physical relationships didn’t really engage his interest any more.

Plus, increasingly, they took his warning that he didn’t do relationships as an invitation to try. They didn’t understand that Strato Doukas had no hidden soft spot. No secret urge for a spouse or family.

His pool of shade turned suddenly icy.

There’d be no wife or family for him.

He tasted bile at the thought. The lessons of his childhood would never be forgotten. His father had seen to that.

Ruthlessly he thrust aside the tainted memories. Far better to focus on work, one of his antidotes to a past best forgotten.

But before he could concentrate on his Asian business issue, he caught sight of a small boat, white with a painted trim of aqua and red, puttering towards the island.

Strato sighed. He wanted solitude, not a bunch of day trippers. But as he squinted into the sunlight he saw just one figure, wearing a wide straw hat and bulky shirt.

The little vessel approached till it was off the rocky tip at the end of the beach. A picnicker? It had better not be a paparazzo.

The intruder whipped off the wide hat and Strato stared. A she. With dark hair almost to her waist. His eyebrows rose. Hair like that wasn’t something you saw every day.

Nevertheless, he must focus on this logistics problem...

With one swift movement the big shirt came off to reveal a figure that actually snared his breath.

Just as you didn’t see hair like that often, nor did you see bodies like that, at least in his social circles.

She twisted and bent to stow the hat and shirt and he registered her suppleness—always a plus—as well as her spectacular curves. The newcomer had an hourglass figure. The sort that, sadly, seemed to have gone out of fashion.

After his slim-to-the-bone guests this week, the ripe swells and tantalising dips of this woman’s figure drew his gaze like a beacon. He watched as she wriggled her hips, pushing down a pair of baggy shorts to reveal more lush curves. Even the dowdy dark one-piece swimsuit didn’t detract for it fitted like a second skin.

His lips curved. Perhaps he wouldn’t mind meeting a picnicker after all.

Yet instead of coming ashore, she put on a mask and snorkel and lowered herself off the far side of the boat, heading into deeper water. For five minutes he watched, curious about the back-and-forth pattern of her swim.

Whoever she was, she was in little danger of drowning. Those long legs kicked powerfully and she moved with grace and precision. But eventually she swam to the headland and past it, out of sight.

Probably just as well. He’d come here to be alone. The last thing he needed was another woman distracting him. He stretched and rolled over, turning away from the water.

Cora jammed the hat more firmly on her head as she picked her way across the rocks, eyes on the ground. Only when she reached the sugar-fine sand did she look towards the shady grove she’d taken to using for her lunch break.

And discovered she wasn’t alone.

A figure lay in the deep shade.

No one else came to this tiny islet, except in the height of the summer season when occasional day trippers from the main island might stop. She turned to survey the water. The only boat in sight, apart from the little wooden one she’d borrowed from her father, was a huge, sleek cruiser in the distance. The sort that looked more at home in Piraeus or the Bahamas than in this forgotten corner of Greece.

Cora frowned, noticing the single set of footprints emerging from the sea.

People who cruised the world in those swanky big yachts didn’t swim four kilometres for fun. Had his boat sunk? He couldn’t have come ashore in last night’s storm. The footprints were too fresh.

Frowning, she headed up the beach. She hoped he wasn’t injured.

Her stride slowed then stopped as she got closer. A man lay on his side, his back to her.

He was naked. The same dark olive colour from his wide, straight shoulders, down the curve of his tapering back to tightly rounded buttocks and long, hairy legs.

Cora swallowed. Surprise dried her mouth and caught her lungs. She felt her eyes widen.

This man was big, she realised. Really big, with long limbs and a toned, fit body.

She was used to fit, athletic men, given her work. Yet she didn’t think she’d ever seen one like this.

Would he look as spectacular from the front?

A tiny breeze riffled his dark hair but he didn’t move. Her eyes strayed to a discoloured area spreading from the shoulder he lay on, up towards his shoulder blade.

Her frown deepened. An injury? Not blood, surely?

Dropping her canvas holdall, she rushed up to him, the tang of fear on her tongue. Was he breathing?

She bent and a hiss escaped her. Shock and relief. Not blood. That wasn’t a recent injury. It was old scar tissue. A burn or—

Muscles rippled under dark gold skin and he rolled over, his shoulder sliding against her ankle, making her jump back.

Spectacular was the word. She had an impression of streamlined power, of formidable energy before she forced her attention up. Yet that momentary survey of his naked form had her heart thudding. Spectacular was definitely the word. Spectacular all over.

Cora swallowed hard and focused on his face. A broad brow. Severe, straight black eyebrows and beneath them slitted green eyes.

Poseidon. That was who he looked like.

Every Greek had seen likenesses of the mighty sea god, the personification of male strength and beauty. Surely if the old stories of gods appearing to mortals held any truth, Poseidon would have eyes like that. Stormy. Assessing. The colour of the sea she’d just swum in.

Cora’s mouth dried. ‘You’re alive.’

‘You were expecting a corpse?’

The fine hairs on Cora’s arms rose and something unfamiliar breathed into being. As if that deep, amused voice woke something dormant within her.

She stiffened and took another half-step back.

‘I wasn’t sure what to think.’ Maybe she’d had too much sun. When she met that probing green gaze her vision seemed to blur at the edges.

Cora broke eye contact and looked past him, frowning.

‘You’ve got no towel, no clothes.’ Amazing how tough it was not to let her gaze dip to his lower body. One quick look had already revealed he was built on the same monumental scale all over. Heat rose to her face.

Those straight eyebrows arched. ‘Is there some rule that says I must have them with me at all times?’

‘I wondered if you’d had an accident.’

‘Is that why you were bending over me? To give me mouth to mouth?’

Her gaze dropped, past a long, straight nose to his smiling mouth. His mouth was beautifully formed, almost too beautiful for a man. Except that the rest of his features, from his solidly carved jaw to the high-cut planes of his cheeks, were so overtly masculine. A deep groove bisected one cheek where his wryly amused smile rose more on one side than the other.

There was no way you could call it a dimple.

A dimple implied something cute and appealing.

This face, this smile, was sardonic, not cute. As for appealing... Her thrumming pulse was proof of that.

But Cora was no fool. He might be incredibly charismatic, with that sexy, quintessentially masculine body. But there was a sharpness about him she didn’t like.

As any Greek who knew their myths could tell you, the ancient gods weren’t kind, caring creatures. They were dangerous.

This man was too. Every feminine instinct sensed danger. The danger not of violence but of primal awareness between male and female.

It showed in the sharp speculation belying that ostensibly lazy stare. In the way his gaze flickered to the damp patches where her breasts pressed against the worn denim shirt. And in the way that smile broadened into something like interest as he saw her noticing.

And above all in the fact he didn’t make a move to cover his nakedness, just lay there, as if inviting her to appreciate his assets.

‘Right. Well, if you’re okay, I’ll go.’ This might be the only deeply shaded spot on the tiny island and she might be long overdue her lunch but—

‘How do you know I’m okay? You haven’t checked my pulse.’

Strato surveyed his Nereid with curiosity and a surprisingly sharp jab of pleasure. For she was definitely a Nereid, a sea nymph.

She’d been the one snorkelling. Her hair hung in long slick locks and there were crease marks on her face from her goggles. Besides, even the frumpy shirt and long baggy shorts couldn’t hide her phenomenal body.

But then he’d had the advantage of seeing her luscious body in all its glory and he had an excellent memory.

Her eyebrows pinched and wide golden-brown eyes met his with a mix of impatience and suspicion that was as obvious as it was novel. Women didn’t usually look at him that way.

Usually they looked eager.

He lifted a hand to his forehead and saw her attention drop to his biceps. Suspicion narrowed her eyes.

Okay, it was an obvious move, drawing attention to his muscles. But he’d seen the way those eyes had widened as she’d looked him over, dwelling for a second on his penis. He understood that look. Had seen it so often from so many women over the years. Annoyance had stirred at her dismissal. She’d actually been turning away when his words stopped her.

This woman was definitely different. After that first appreciative stare she’d kept her attention on his face.

Strato found that intriguing. Almost disappointing.

He shouldn’t want female attention. He’d just sent away the two women who’d joined him for sun and sex.

Either he was so supremely shallow that he couldn’t stand being ignored by a lovely woman. Or so world-weary a hint of novelty grabbed his attention—and other parts, making them stir with interest. Neither said much for his character.

Ruefully he decided he might be both. Though no one else would dare voice such an assessment. Not when Strato Doukas commanded billions.

He added cynical to the list.

‘Are you all right? Did you hurt your head?’

Strato realised his palm covered his forehead and it might look as if he had a headache.

For a nanosecond he contemplated lying. But he preferred the truth, even when it was brutal. Better the truth than hiding from it. He knew first-hand how perilous it could be, not facing facts head-on.

His mouth tightened and in response a frown gathered on her brow.

To his amazement Strato felt warmth lick behind his ribs. Warmth that had nothing to do with sexual interest but with the fact this woman he didn’t know was genuinely worried about him.

It was bizarre.

He paid a host of staff extremely well to cater to his every need. He didn’t need a stranger’s worry. Yet her words stirred something deep inside that he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

Raking his fingers through his hair, he gave her a deliberately languid smile, refusing to dwell on his instinctive reaction to her simple kindness. That felt too much like weakness. ‘No, I’m not injured. Do I look it?’

Satisfaction scudded through him as he watched her swallow, as if fighting her instinctive response. Because she liked what she saw?

Shallow, Doukas. Definitely shallow.

But better than dwelling on his response to her concern.

‘Good. I’m glad you’re okay.’ Her voice had a throaty edge that rippled across his libido.

She didn’t look glad. She looked strung too tight. Strato liked that. He also liked the way her nipples stood erect against her shabby shirt, making him wonder if those plump breasts would feel as spectacular in his hands as they looked.

But shallow though he might be, he was also ruthlessly honest with himself. Which left him thinking about why her interest pleased him. Because it counteracted that momentary jab of unexpected connection he felt? Gave him something to concentrate on other than the emptiness growing inside?

He heard himself saying as she made to turn away, ‘I don’t suppose you have anything to drink, do you? I’m parched.’

She stilled. ‘You don’t have any water? How long have you been here?’

He shrugged. ‘Hours, I suppose.’

‘You suppose? Don’t you know? Do you have any supplies with you?’

Her voice married concern with a scolding edge and Strato found himself imagining her dressed as a buttoned-up school mistress. It wasn’t a fantasy that had ever appealed before. It didn’t last long now. He preferred the prospect of seeing her in her swimsuit again, or naked, than with her figure obscured.

‘I don’t have anything at all.’

Now he thought about it he was thirsty. He should have returned to the yacht, because his staff wouldn’t seek him out, knowing he wanted solitude.

Not as clever as you thought, Doukas.

He was rewarded with another frown, more like a scowl this time, and a mutter he didn’t catch.

‘What are you doing without supplies? It’s madness.’

He nodded, fascinated. It had been a lifetime ago that anyone had taken him to task. The last had been his aunt, who’d fretted over him, worrying about him till the end. As if her worry could change the inevitable and turn him into someone different, someone not—

‘It may not be high summer yet but you can’t afford to get dehydrated. Especially if you’re alone here.’ His Nereid paused, looking beyond him as if expecting to see someone else emerge over the crest of the small hill. ‘Are you alone?’

‘I am. But I’ll be picked up at sunset.’ That was the standing arrangement with his crew.

Her mouth firmed into a disapproving line as she slid a stained canvas bag from her shoulder. ‘That’s sheer stupidity. Anything could happen in that time.’

His gaze tracked from her wide, kissable mouth, now primed with disapproval, down the slick dark hair dripping around her shoulders and lower, reaching towards her waist. Past bountiful breasts to those horribly baggy shorts that made her hips look over-sized, to toned, glorious legs.

Oh, yes, anything could happen in that time.

‘I don’t suppose you’ve got any food in there too? I haven’t eaten today.’