A Perfect Wife: International Billionaires V: The Greeks (19 page)

His
giagiá
bustled into the kitchen, tut-tutted at her husband’s smoking, and finally turned to look at the shiny new stove. A crow of pure rapture erupted from her mouth and she immediately turned and threw her arms around him.

He’d never gotten used to the hugs, the touches when he’d arrived here. Any familial contact he’d experienced before arriving here had either been brutal punishment or treacherous enticement. Yet now, for some reason, he sank into the feeling of being held by someone who loved him. Something twisted inside him, like a linked chain, tightening around his heart.

“The oven looks great.” The witch smiled at him, the smile she’d given him since arriving here. Not precisely the warm smile she gave to his grandparents, but it was nothing like the cold smiles she’d given him before.

He couldn’t figure out her smile.

“You did a really good job.” Her smile grew wider, creasing her cheeks, making the bloom of rose on her skin shine with a glossy glow. “You’ve made your grandparents happy.”

Then Natalie, this female, touched him too. Patted his arm with her long, elegant fingers.

The chain inside him tightened again. Squeezed and strangled. Finally, it cut right through his heart, right through to his long-forgotten soul.

He swore he would have fallen if his grandmother’s arms weren’t still around him.

The witch’s velveteen eyes widened. “Aetos? What is it?”

Exactly. What is it? This chain cutting him, slicing away at everything he believed he wanted long ago when he’d left here. This place.

His place.

“
N
o
, no,” his
giagiá
chided. “Natalie, watch me once more.”

The gnarled hands rolled the dough into a smooth ball before dropping it onto the cookie sheet where another dozen balls marched in straight lines. “
Deíte
?
Aplí̱
.”

Nat laughed. She’d learned quite a bit of Greek during the last ten days. How could she not have, with the constant flow of family and chatter running through the farmhouse? But she couldn’t agree this task was simple. She’d tried a dozen times to mimic the older woman’s skill in baking without much success.

Up to this point.

However, she was determined to master this. Hell, she’d managed to master her mother’s recipes as a young girl. She remembered the
halushki
cookies her mother and aunts made every Christmas. As a kid, she’d observed the women roll the dough out while they laughed and talked. Sometimes her mother allowed her to stir the
kutia
pudding, seeing the poppy seeds and rice disappearing in the bubbling cream.

If she’d managed to conquer Ukrainian cooking, she could do so with Greek. Determined, she plucked another piece of dough up and rolled and rolled.

The ball of batter plopped right next to the rest of the balls.

The old woman cooed with delight. Nodding her head in approval, she whisked the cookie sheet over to the shiny new stove and popped open the oven door. Immediately, the scent of vanilla and spice filled the kitchen. With a deft move, his
giagiá
slipped out one sheet of baked cookies and replaced it with the other.

The heat of him came from behind her. Every cell in her body came to quivering attention. Just as they did every night as he slid into bed beside her, even though she had her back to him.

“I think you need someone to do a taste test.” He’d been safely in the other room, playing backgammon with his grandfather. She’d been relieved since lately, she couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything when he was around.

“
Óchi
!” His grandmother swatted his hand away as it dangled above the steaming cookies.

He grinned, a quick flash of white teeth, a quick flash of light in his eyes.

Nat sucked in a breath, sucked in the scents of Christmas cookies and family and him. The warm heat of belonging swept through her while the clean crispness of his skin’s scent tingled in her mouth.

A mix of pleasure and pain.

Every night she got into the bed and turned away from him. Every morning she awoke with his side of the bed empty, yet still warm. Every time, she couldn’t help it, she slid her hand across the sheets where his heat lingered.

And thought about pleasure. And tried to remind herself of the inevitable pain.

Surely it was only dreams she remembered. Fevered imaginations of being close to his heated body, of feeling his arms around her keeping her warm. A burning desire for his hands in her hair and his mouth on her skin had made her delusional.

Because during the day, he was as rude as ever. Especially with her.

His family noticed and worried.

She tried to continue with the façade of a happy marriage. After all, she’d promised. Still, the guy wasn’t making it easy with his grouchy behavior and surly slurs.

The guy in question turned to look at her and his grin faded.

Her heart squeezed into a tight knot of hurt.

“
Gýrna píso̱ kai na teleió̱sei ti̱n apó̱leia
.” His grandfather’s voice rang from the living room in challenge.

“I’m coming back,” he called. “But not to lose to you, old man.”

The backgammon games had started grudgingly, Aetos complaining he had far too much to do around the farmhouse, and why the hell didn’t his cell phone work? The series of games, though, had now appeared to become a herculean challenge to his honor, to his grandfather’s, and to his uncles and male cousins. The lot of them had spent the last few days in a revolving tournament of escalating crows of glee, threats of violence, and masculine idiocies.

The women tut-tutted and gathered in the kitchen to gossip.

A sudden wash of tears filled her eyes. Another scene reminding her of her childhood. Or maybe the tears were as much about Aetos’s continued coldness as they were about her old memories.

“
Óchi
, no.” His grandmother’s hand stopped him from returning to the living room. “It is time you and Natalie find a tree.”

The English was halting, yet understandable. Also, incomprehensible. “A tree?” Nat arched her brows. There were plenty of trees everywhere outside.

“I bought you a tree.” Aetos frowned.

Obviously, he’d bought them a tree. He’d bought them everything and it had all landed, as she’d expected, in the run-down shed. Everything meant everything. There’d been appliances and mattresses. Curtains and comforters. There’d been a long row of furniture lining one wall while the other side of the shed had been filled with a mishmash of tools, toys, and trophies.

He’d cursed as he opened the shed doors. Loudly. For a long time.

His grandparents had merely shrugged in unison.

Everything had come out of the shed. The mattresses had been placed on the new beds. The new shower and tub had been installed in the bathroom. The curtains had been hung and the tools had replaced the ancient instruments scattered across the farm, the vineyard, and the olive groves.

The man was a bundle of energy.

She’d watched him as he swung the ladder to lean on the side of the house so he could climb up and inspect the roof. Then, he’d clambered down and cursed his grandfather. Who’d shrugged once more. A day later, there’d been a swarm of men working on the roof.

She watched as he strode across the land his family owned, barking orders to a variety of workmen who dutifully started to install the new piping for the water sprayers. A new grape harvester appeared on the side of the shed and his
pappoús
looked as excited about the machine as his
giagiá
had been about her new stove.

As she watched and watched, she felt and felt. Felt the tug of unwilling respect for the powerful passion he put into everything he did. Felt the grudging approval for how he could transform his grandparents’ aging, dilapidated farmhouse into a warm, welcoming, modern version of a home they’d continue to feel comfortable in.

The man understood. He knew love deep inside. Only the outer shell of the man kept him from becoming who he was meant to be. A man who was meant to be here within the heart of his family and his home and his land.

She knew it. But he still didn’t.

“Aetos.” His
giagiá’s
eyes were bright with laughter. “That thing is not a tree.”

“It is a tree. I saw it in its box out in the shed.” He frowned again, an expression of bafflement crossing his face.

Nat’s heart did a twist and a turn and fell right into his adorableness. The wrench of emotions wove through the building need and desire for this man. His tall, angular body moving fluidly as he helped load the tiles onto the roof. The way he walked with lithe gracefulness as he strode across the olive grove. The way the sun shone on his hair, gilding him with golden gorgeousness.

The way his heat beckoned her in their shared bed.

“A tree cannot be in a box.” His
pappoús
shuffled into the kitchen and settled into his customary chair. “Certainly not a Christmas tree.”

Ah ha! That kind of tree. Natalie silently agreed. A Christmas tree did not come in a box.

“That’s the most expensive one there is.” The deep frown only made him more beautiful and more adorable. The man was clueless.

“It’s silver.” His grandfather pronounced the two words with a puzzled grimace.

“It’s supposed to be silver.”

Shaking her head, his
giagiá
looked askance at Natalie. “Do all Americans have silver Christmas trees?”

“No.” She laughed, even though the tight ball of his rejection filled her stomach. Glancing over, she noticed his eyes were hot. Likely hot with anger because she didn’t defend him on this one. Too bad. “Usually it’s the wealthy people who have silver Christmas trees.”

“Hmm.” His grandfather took out his pipe. “We are not wealthy.”

“I am.” Their grandson’s expression went stubborn. “So you are.”

“Aetos.” His grandmother tut-tutted. “That tree will not smell.”

“Correct.” He paced across the room to his
pappoús
and wrenched the pipe from his hand. “The thing also won’t shed needles everywhere.”

“A Christmas tree should smell,” Nat injected, solidly on the right side. “That’s part of Christmas.”

The old man snatched his beloved pipe back and grinned when his grandson glared down at him. “Do as your
gynaíka
and your
giagiá
command. Go find us a Christmas tree.”

Impatience swelled from him, filling the room with his frustration. Abruptly, she understood what it meant if he agreed. She’d be alone with him. Finding a tree. He’d unleash his grievances on her.

“All right,” he finally barked. “Come on.”

He marched to the door and Natalie slunk after him. What had she got herself into?

The day was balmy for December. The simple sweater and jeans she’d thrown on this morning were ideal for keeping her warm. She hated to admit it, but being around him kept her warm too.

He glanced at her, his gaze dark with heat. “I suppose I’ll have to be the one to chop down whatever damn tree you decide on.”

Bristling, she brushed away the continued hurt and shot right back. “I can chop as well as you.”

With a snort, he stomped into the now-mostly-empty shed and came out with a sturdy-looking ax. He pointed towards the mountains. “We’ll go up the mountain where there’s plenty of
real
pine trees you can choose from.”

Ignoring his sarcasm, she followed him. By his stiff gait and rigid shoulders she saw what was in her near future. A lot of nasty comments and rude behavior.

The man was ridiculous. This should be fun, finding a real, live Christmas tree in the woods. She’d only ever shopped for Christmas trees in busy garden centers with her father cursing, and her mother pursing her lips as she eyed each and every pine. As a kid, she’d been excited because as soon as they’d take the chosen tree home, the whole family would spend the evening hanging the lights and ornaments on the boughs. Her dad would laugh as he drank his mulled wine with his brothers and her mom would look happy.

But here she was, starting an adventure, and stubborn, ridiculous Aetos Zenos, as usual, was ruining it.

“You are extremely stupid.” She glared at his unyielding back.

He stilled, stopped. Turned to scowl at her. “What the hell does that mean?”

Her bubbling hurt and frustration came pouring out. “You’ve got everything here. Everything.”

“Here?” He glanced around dismissively. “Here in this godforsaken land?”

“It’s not the land I’m talking about. It’s your family.”

An exclamation of disgust was his only response.

The sound burned her hide. She’d cheerfully like to take a stick and hit him over his obtuse head. Or maybe borrow the axe he held and cleave him right in two. “Here you are. Where you belong—”

“Bullsh—”

“Where you are loved—”

“They love my money.” He said the words like he meant them, yet his eyes, his chestnut eyes, gleamed with a desperate desire to flee the real truth.

“All you do is grumble and complain. You’re a moron.”

His brown gaze lit with fierce gold. “Stupid. Moron.”

“
Nai
.” She propped her hands on her hips. “And a total grouch. A jerk.”

With one step, he was upon her. “I don’t belong here.”

“Idiot.”

“I have important work to do.”

“The important work you need to do is right here.” She stuck out her chin and met his glare with an unflinching one of her own. “You’ve made a good start on the farmhouse. But look at these vineyards.”

His gaze didn’t follow the swish of her hands as she waved to her left, gesturing toward the lines of barren vines waiting for spring. Waiting for love. Instead, he kept staring and glaring as if he could press her words and actions back into the past.

“Your grandfather needs help.”

“No,” he gritted. “Tuckermarkets needs my help.”

“Okay.” She remembered. The passion in his voice, the excitement when he’d talked about taking over the markets. “Then do both.”

Another snort of dismissal.

“Are you saying you aren’t capable of doing both?”

The challenge shot through him and he snapped straight. “I need to be in New York City.”

“All the time?” She kept at him, hoping somewhere deep inside the seed had been sown.

“Shut up.” He turned around and marched away toward the rising path between the trees.

Natalie had never been very good with men, never good at cajoling or convincing. Yet somehow, someway, she’d come to know this man. She knew with certainty; it was time to let the subject go.

For now.

The path meandered, spiraling and ascending. Memories swept in. Another path, another time following this beautiful man into his past. Another time when she’d noted the beauty of his movement, the way his long legs paced and his back muscles moved. Just as with that time, she became entranced. What made it worse was now she had the memory of his heat beside her in bed and the grin he’d recently given his grandmother. Now she had the knowledge he loved and was loved.

“This one.” He stopped in front of a short, stout pine.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Eyeing it, she swiveled to stare at him. “This one is tiny.”

“You’re not the one who’s going to have to carry it back home.”

Home
.

She noticed his abrupt flinch when he said the last word. Everything inside her melted with compassion. “I’m going to help drag the tree to the farmhouse. But not this one.”

He glanced at her, a surprising twinkle of amusement lighting his eyes. “Are you always this bossy?”

“What?” She couldn’t help the smile, the tiny smile. “You just noticed?”

The laugh rumbled from deep within him and grew. He threw his head back, his white teeth flashing in the sun, his eyes crinkling shut. Nat’s heart hitched and stuttered in her chest. A glow of pure happiness bloomed inside her. She’d done this, made him laugh.