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

CHAPTER THREE

CORAWASWIPINGdown outdoor tables on the vine-shaded terrace when she heard a boat.

It wasn’t unusual to hear motors early in the morning as the fishing boats returned. Yet this motor approached the hotel, not the harbour further around the bay.

She shaded her eyes. On the water’s dancing gold and silver dazzle she saw it approach. Not a traditional fishing boat but something sleek and modern.

They weren’t expecting guests today, sadly. Besides, this boat was too small to have come from the mainland. Cora scanned the bay and noticed the luxury motor yacht she’d seen yesterday, now anchored off the point. If someone was coming ashore for supplies, surely they’d head to the harbourside shops?

The engine stopped and the boat kissed the end of the hotel’s jetty. Someone slung out a rope, mooring it with the ease of long practice.

She moved to the next table. Yet instead of cleaning it, she watched the man walk down the jetty.

The low sun was directly behind him and she had an impression of height and athleticism, and wide, straight shoulders. He didn’t hurry but his long stride covered the distance in no time.

Cora’s nape tightened and the cloth crumpled in her hand as she watched that easy, confident walk. More saunter than stride.

She didn’t recognise his gait, yet premonition stirred like a strong current in still waters. Some primal sense told her—

He stepped into the shade of the tamarisk trees edging the terrace and Cora’s chest grabbed.

Poseidon.

The amused, intriguing, dangerous man from yesterday.

Her eyes ate him up. From the dark hair swept back off his high forehead to the chiselled male beauty and carved arrogance of his face. He wore reflective sunglasses and she wondered if behind them he was smiling again.

One sweeping glance told her he looked almost as good dressed as he did naked. He wore designer loafers, a white short-sleeved shirt, and pale trousers that must have been tailored to fit those powerful thighs and long legs.

Instantly Cora regretted her choice of clothes. Old tennis shoes, cut-off denim shorts with uneven, ragged edges and a black T-shirt proclaiming Biologists Do It in Their Genes.

He stopped on the terrace, surveying her. Then slowly, so slowly she felt each tiny, incremental change like the stroke of velvet on bare skin, his mouth curved up into a smile that made her pulse throb and her toes curl.

A flourish of something she couldn’t name stirred and Cora snatched a desperate breath, schooling her features.

She tilted her chin higher. She’d been right. He was tall, far taller than her. It was unusual for her to have to look up at a man. Unusual and...not unpleasant.

‘Good morning. Can I help you?’

Sleek eyebrows lifted and he took his glasses off to reveal eyes the colour of the sea, shimmering with warmth.

‘You don’t recognise me?’ His smile curved even higher on one side, creating an apostrophe of amusement, a tiny groove in the tanned flesh beside his mouth.

It was like an invitation, that tiny curl. Beckoning Cora to reach out and trace it. To respond to the invitation in his eyes.

Remarkably, her fingertips tingled as if she’d done just that. As if she’d brushed them across his face.

Horrified at her vivid imaginings, she reached for the cloth that had dropped to the table.

‘Of course. We met yesterday.’ Her voice was appallingly husky but she ploughed on. ‘So you got picked up from the beach all right.’

He inclined his head, his eyes not leaving hers. ‘You were worried about me?’

‘I...’ Why did her mouth dry under that wickedly arousing gaze and her words stick in her throat? She was twenty-six, not sixteen. ‘It was an unusual situation, being left without supplies.’

She’d almost returned yesterday evening to check on him, but her father had felt fretful, worrying about money, and Doris had been out so Cora had been forced to stay here. That was why she’d started her morning chores early, so she had time to take the boat this morning and check the stranger was safe.

‘Why are you here?’

‘To see you.’

Fervently Cora hoped he couldn’t read her delight at his words. She had no interest any more in uber-sexy men. Her dear dad was the only man in her life these days.

Yet excitement throbbed in her accelerating pulse.

‘Really?’ Willpower kept her voice flat. ‘How did you find me?’

He shrugged. ‘I knew you must be local.’ Then she noticed he held something in his hand. He offered it to her.

‘Thank you for the loan.’

Cora’s lips twitched as she took the familiar, worn-thin fabric. ‘You ironed my shorts?’

His smile widened, a long groove appearing in his cheek, and Cora had to focus on taking the clothing rather than melting at the knees.

She’d known attractive men, sexy men, but never one to affect her like this, so devastatingly. Not even Adrian had had this instantaneous impact.

‘They’ve been washed too, but I admit I didn’t do it. One of my staff was responsible.’

He had staff? Once more her gaze flickered to that massive yacht. Surely not. He couldn’t be the owner. He must have come from elsewhere.

‘Well, thank you.’ She didn’t mention she’d been on the verge of throwing out the tatty shorts.

‘Join me in a coffee?’

Cora blinked.

‘You do serve coffee here?’ He nodded to the small tables and blue-painted, rush-bottomed chairs.

‘Of course.’ It was before normal opening hours but...

‘Then two coffees please. If you’ll join me?’

Looking into that confident face, Cora wanted to say she had too much work to spare the time. Any man who made her feel hot and bothered with just a smile should be avoided. It had been a hard-won lesson that she wouldn’t forget.

Yet the adventurous Cora she’d stifled so long urged her to agree. The Cora who’d revelled in new experiences, new places and the opportunity to work in the field she loved. The work she’d had to give up while she helped out here.

Lately she’d imagined that Cora had disappeared completely, broken by disappointment, duty and worry. Now, feeling her blood effervesce, she knew better.

Caution vied with pleasure. How long since she’d had a conversation that didn’t centre on the hotel, her father’s health or their financial woes? At least this man distracted her from reality, even if only fleetingly.

What harm could a coffee do? It was only polite to thank him after he’d made the effort to wash and return her clothes.

Nodding, trying to look brisk and businesslike, she turned away. ‘I won’t be long.’

Strato subsided onto a chair where he could watch the shadowed doorway through which she’d exited.

Contentment filled him, and a little jiggle of anticipation he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

If he’d known coming to these smaller islands would prove so diverting he’d have come sooner. Athens was predictable and New York palled. Monte Carlo was passé and he wasn’t in the mood for Rio’s flamboyant parties.

What did appeal was his Nereid.

He liked that she didn’t gush when he appeared. That she treated him as an equal.

Even her addiction to appalling clothes intrigued him. He laughed, thinking of the difference between designer string bikinis and tatty shorts. Today’s shorts were infinitely better for they clung close. The jagged hem rose high on one side, to just below her buttock, catching and holding his gaze as she walked away. Amazingly he found the sight of that extra sliver of thigh more arousing than either of the women who’d paraded naked on his yacht.

As for her T-shirt... It clung lovingly to her magnificent breasts and made him more than ever determined to pursue their acquaintance.

Besides, he’d never had a biologist.

Class act, Doukas. Ticking them off by profession now?

Strato breathed deep, ignoring the tang of self-disgust on his tongue. Far from ticking off professions he was intrigued by her chosen field.

Anyway, he set limits around his relationships for an excellent reason. If that meant those relationships seemed increasingly shallow and unsatisfactory, that was the price he’d pay. The alternative was impossible.

Yet he wondered what would happen if he chose not to swim in the shallows but to venture into deeper water. If he pursued a woman who seemed complex and challenging and far removed from what he was used to.

He was sprawled, legs stretched out beyond the small table, his attention not on the sea but on the door to the hotel.

A little thrill wound its way down Cora’s spine then around to her breasts and lower as their eyes locked.

He sat up as she approached. Did he notice she’d taken time to brush her hair? She’d wanted to change her clothes too but pride forbade it. His ego was big enough without her primping.

Cora recalled those times Doris had set her up to meet some prospective boyfriend. Inevitably when Cora appeared, Amazonian in height and stature, usually taller than the stranger Doris had invited, the guy would stare in dismay.

Then there were the ones drawn to Cora’s generous figure. Whose eyes devoured her so eagerly her skin crawled.

Her skin didn’t crawl now.

Poseidon’s gaze might be meshed with hers but she hadn’t missed that all-encompassing survey. He’d seen and approved. Instead of being discomfited, she revelled in his interest.

Why? That was the million-dollar question.

Cora moved between the tables, head up. Her shoulders were back, not curving forward as if trying to minimise her chest.

Bizarre that she should react like this to a stranger’s gaze when blatant sexual interest usually annoyed her. This time she felt something like pride. Delight. Anticipation at spending time with him.

‘Here you are.’ She placed their tiny coffee cups, glasses of water and a plate of biscuits on the table and took a seat opposite him.

‘You’ve been baking?’

Cora laughed, the sound a little too loud. ‘Hardly. I’m no domestic goddess. These are Doris’s. Try one. The combination of honey and walnuts is delicious.’

He took one and bit into it, still holding her gaze. And, like yesterday when she’d watched him eat, Cora felt something flutter to life inside her. Something powerful and utterly feminine that she hadn’t experienced in ages.

She’d told herself Poseidon couldn’t be as attractive as she remembered and even if he were, it had to be surface gloss, the sort of shallow gloss she’d been inoculated against with Adrian and his friend.

Yet she looked at this man and felt something visceral. A yearning she couldn’t identify.

She blinked and looked away, reaching for her coffee cup. Suddenly even sitting across the tiny table from him felt like an act of recklessness.

‘So, you’re not a cook. I assume you’re a biologist?’

Cora looked up into that steady gaze and was momentarily lost. She had the weirdest floating sensation, as if she’d dived into warm, tropical waters and forgotten her bearings.

‘Your T-shirt.’ His words fractured the fantasy as he nodded towards her top. ‘Or isn’t it yours?’

She shook her head. ‘It’s mine and I am...was a biologist. A marine biologist.’ She stifled momentary sadness. She didn’t regret coming here. Her father needed her and that trumped everything. Theirs had always been a close-knit family.

Poseidon nodded. ‘This must be a fascinating location to work. Isn’t there a turtle nesting site around here somewhere?’

There was and its precise location was a carefully kept secret. Even though she thought she saw real interest spark in his eyes.

‘Yes, it is fascinating. Though I’m not working as a biologist at the moment.’ She reached forward and took one of the biscuits, biting into it, appreciating the sweetness.

When she met his gaze again he was watching her mouth. Not leering, yet with an intensity that made her supremely self-aware.

‘That’s right, your father’s been unwell. So you’re helping here?’

‘Yes. What about you? What do you do?’ She knew all the locals, or thought she did. He had to be a visitor.

He shrugged in a lazy movement that drew her attention to the strength in his broad shoulders and powerful chest. ‘Right now? As little as possible.’

So he was on vacation.

‘What’s your name?’ His deep voice took on a different quality. Like whisky—warm with a rough edge that nevertheless slid easily through her. She had a premonition she could grow addicted to the sound of it.

‘Cora. Cora Georgiou.’

‘Cora.’ His mouth lifted the tiniest fraction at one corner and in response she felt a blast of heat right through her middle. ‘I like it. It’s a good name for a Nereid.’

‘A sea nymph?’ She snorted and shook her head. ‘Hardly. They’re usually depicted on more delicate lines.’

He tilted his head to one side and Cora had the impression that he wasn’t sizing up her body so much as exploring her mind.

It was an unsettling sensation. So few of the men she’d known bothered with the cerebral. They took one look at her body and categorised her as either over-sized and therefore dismissible or an easy lay.

Yesterday she’d have put this man in the second category. Now she wondered if there was more to him than she’d thought.

‘It’s my fantasy, and as far as I’m concerned you’re perfect for the role.’

Cora raised her eyebrows and sharpened her stare but he sounded genuine.

Her mouth curled wryly as she realised that, if he had been Poseidon, he’d have chosen sea nymphs to suit his personal preference.

‘What is it?’

Cora shrugged. ‘The coincidence that you thought of a Nereid and I thought of Poseidon.’

Too late she realised that would only feed his already healthy ego. Because Poseidon was always portrayed as the epitome of fit, powerful masculinity.

Yet instead of that puffing him up, she read genuine amusement in his glittering eyes. For a moment she felt a bond of shared humour, warm and...nice.

‘I’m flattered. But I’m more interested in the fact our minds thought along similar lines.’

So was Cora. She couldn’t recall the last time that had happened.

She sipped her coffee to hide her widening smile. The sharp taste of caffeine hit, revving her brain into gear and reminding her not to make assumptions.

‘So what’s your name?’

‘Strato.’ He paused. ‘Strato Doukas.’

Cora felt her eyes widen.

Poseidon, indeed! For the god of the sea was also known as Earth Shaker, responsible for earthquakes. And it felt right now as if the world tilted and shook around her.

Strato Doukas! Surely it wasn’t possible.

Yet she’d heard via Doris that staff from his giant luxury cruiser had visited the harbour yesterday, buying fresh seafood and local produce. She’d even suspected this man was off that same yacht.

But Strato Doukas himself?

‘The Strato Doukas?’

He shrugged. ‘It’s possible you’ve heard of me.’

Possible! The man was famed, or perhaps infamous, not just in Greece but far beyond. Mega-wealthy and renowned for his sybaritic lifestyle. He was rarely seen at the headquarters of his international logistics empire. Despite old stories of him taking his family’s enterprise from moderately profitable to phenomenally successful, it was said he didn’t bother with business any more.

These days he was too busy having a good time. The stories about him grew more and more salacious. Not that Cora read them, but Adrian and his friends had talked of the man, half envious and half admiring.

She took another sip of coffee, grimacing as the rich flavour turned bitter in her mouth.

‘This doesn’t seem your sort of place, Mr Doukas.’

Surely a multibillionaire playboy didn’t frequent struggling little family hotels or pass the time with ordinary people like her.

Unless he was slumming it?

She remembered the gleam of amusement dancing in his eyes yesterday. She’d found it attractive. Too attractive. Now she realised he probably relished the novelty of her reaction to his nudity and his undeniably glorious body. Had he been laughing at her all the time? This man mixed with glamorous models and socialites. Women who’d look slim and elegant against her ample curves. No wonder he’d smirked over her ancient, baggy shorts.

The skin between her shoulders crawled and a shudder rippled down her spine.

She knew all about privileged men who found amusement with naïve women.

‘Strato, please.’ He paused, eyes narrowing when she didn’t respond.

But suddenly the hints of shared intimacy, the repartee and amusement seemed one-sided rather than mutual.

Cora knew men like him didn’t really view women like her as equals. Clearly he was bored. Then she remembered another snippet of gossip Doris had picked up in town. That Strato Doukas had not one but two Scandinavian lovers keeping him company on his luxury yacht.

She shoved her chair back so hard it screeched across the flagstones.

‘I’m afraid I don’t have time to sit and chat. There’s a lot to do.’

He frowned.

To her horror, the expression didn’t detract one iota from his attractiveness.

‘It doesn’t seem busy. You don’t have many guests, do you?’

It was a reminder she didn’t need. Business was poor with the economic downturn and the ferry from the mainland laid up for repairs. If things didn’t improve it was only a matter of months before they’d have to close their doors permanently and sell. If they could find a buyer.

Then what would happen to her father?

Fear scraped her gullet.

And anger. Anger at this man who’d come here for light relief when his sophisticated playmates palled. As if Cora was some diversion.

What hurt most was realising how willingly she’d played along. How fascinated she’d been by this man. How eager.

‘Nevertheless, I’m busy. You mightn’t realise it but a lot of hard work goes on behind the scenes to provide the comforts others take for granted.’

His frown became a scowl and any trace of indolence disappeared from his big frame.

‘You think I don’t appreciate hard work?’

‘I’m sure you appreciate a lot of things, Mr Doukas.’ Like orgies with Scandinavian models and amusing himself with the yokels for a bit of variety. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me I need to go. But please, take your time. The coffee is on the house.’

She’d taken a single step when he rose.

‘Wait.’ Instead of lazy indolence there was a note of command in that deep voice and, despite her intentions, Cora responded to it, halting.

When he spoke again the authoritative note was gone, or at least masked by a coaxing tone. ‘I’d much rather you stayed.’

Cora shook her head. Her heart hammered high in her chest. ‘I’m afraid that’s impossible.’

He moved to stand before her.

She could walk around him yet his absolute stillness and that stare held her where she was. Once more she had the sensation he saw more than she wanted. Strange that a man renowned for his devotion to personal pleasure should have such a searching gaze.

‘Why, Cora? Because you really have work, or because you’re afraid of me?’

‘Afraid?’ Her chin jerked high and her hands planted on her hips. ‘I’m not afraid of any man.’

No man had the power to hurt her any more. Because forewarned was forearmed. She’d never again be so gullible.

‘No? Then maybe you’re afraid of this, between us?’ He raised his hand in a gesture that encompassed the pair of them.

For a second Cora felt relief that she hadn’t imagined that connection between them. The invisible thread of shared amusement and camaraderie that had attracted her even more than his gorgeous body and bone-melting smile.

But it was no such thing. He was a handsome, too handsome, man with an aura of potent masculinity that would attract any woman. He’d set out to snare her and she’d fallen for it. Because he wanted a little rustic entertainment.

‘There’s nothing between us, Mr Doukas.’

He moved so fast she didn’t have time to back away. Suddenly they were standing toe to toe and she had to arch her neck to maintain eye contact.

Cora couldn’t remember ever being close to such a man. So much bigger than her, all powerful muscle and brooding intensity. The heat of his tall frame enveloped her.

Yet it wasn’t fear she felt as he scowled down at her.

It was jubilation. And against her better judgement, anticipation.

A voice in her head told her she was mad. Reckless. Asking for trouble.

But she was no longer a victim. She’d rather infuriate Strato Doukas than run from him. She’d rather feel the way she did now, challenging him, than turn her back on this glorious feeling.

‘Isn’t there? Are you absolutely sure, Cora? Because it feels to me as if we share...something.’

He lifted his hand, hard fingers spreading over her jaw, his thumb a mere heartbeat from her mouth.

Heat drenched her. Heat and want. So intense she didn’t know what to do with herself.

She struggled to keep her voice even. Admitting he was right would be a fatal error. ‘Sorry, Mr Doukas. You must be imagining it.’

His nostrils flared on an indrawn breath and something flashed across his features. It didn’t look like anger.

‘Maybe you’re right. After all, what could we have in common?’

Cora didn’t move. She couldn’t, because while her brain told her to leave, every cell in her body screamed that this was exactly where she wanted to be. A quiver ran through her as she waited, watching. Then she felt a band of warmth around her waist. He’d looped his arm around her. ‘Unless, of course, it’s this.’

His head swooped down to hers and her lips parted on a silent sigh of relief.