A Perfect Wife: International Billionaires V: The Greeks (5 page)

T
he plane hummed quietly
under her feet.

Natalie stared through one of the many oval windows, down onto the rolling mountains of clouds. Far below, the Mediterranean’s waves rolled as well. For the first time in her life, she was doing what she’d longed and dreamed of forever.

Travel.

To somewhere exotic and new. Somewhere dazzling and exciting and teeming with mysteries to explore and write about. Cities and countries and people filled with strange and glorious stories needing to be told.

As a kid, she’d daydreamed endlessly about hopping on a plane, a train, a boat. Going to London and Paris. Taking a cruise to Australia. Living in India or China. Her dreams had turned into determination in her teens and even after her father’s death, her hopes hadn’t died. College tuition had been earned by long hours at the Brooklyn bar her father used to live at with all his mob cronies. Still, her hard work had been worth it. The journalism degree would be her ticket to the world, the road to making her dreams come true.

“
Ilíthios
!” His voice came from across the cabin. The word sliced the air with irritation.

A curse, surely. His accent only heightened the impatience curling through each vowel.

Reluctantly, she glanced across the aisle. She’d tried to ignore him for the last eight hours as the plane rose over the New York skyline and started its journey to Greece. Yet his presence, his power, drew her attention again and again. It had become a continuous battle to keep her focus on the clouds, on the book she’d brought from his library, on the over-the-top luxury of his private airplane.

But only when she’d snatched a couple of hours of sleep had she truly escaped from him.

“
Anói̱tos
!” His long, blunt fingers drummed on his laptop. A look of annoyance crossed his face as he replied to one of his seemingly endless emails.

Another curse. Or perhaps an order. She watched as his gold-flecked dark brows frowned in furious concentration at his computer screen.

The man could not possibly be human. Not for a moment had he slept or relaxed or looked away from his work. He’d traveled across the country last night to confront her. He’d worked throughout the day as they flew towards his homeland, flew into the darkness of the spreading night. Twenty-four hours? More likely at least thirty-six hours of being awake. He’d undoubtedly spent the previous day flying through enormous mounds of work. Even in the brief time she’d been with him, she’d spotted one dominant trait.

The man lived to work.

He hadn’t glanced her way once through the entire trip. The harsh demand of her to come with him to Greece had been the last words he’d thrown her way. His focus had never strayed towards her; instead, his eagle-eyed gaze narrowed on his cell, his laptop, and his paperwork.

Not that she cared.

She’d rather he glance, demand, focus on anything or anyone other than herself. The moments he had zeroed in on her in his bedroom had caused so much emotional and physical strain she’d cheerfully never go through the experience again.

His hair gilded gold in the overhead light. The curls were ruthlessly suppressed by the severe haircut, yet they hinted at their existence in the waves around his ears, the wisps on his forehead. They lent him an almost boyish air. A stark distinction to the jut of his male nose and strong, clenched jaw. A jaw now sporting a five o’clock shadow, a dusting of honey-colored hair.

Something inside her tugged taut.

Nat forced herself to look away, focus back on her thoughts.

She was going to Greece. One of the myriad places she’d put on her list of must-sees back when she’d been young enough to believe in a future filled with travel.

Back before her mother had fallen ill with breast cancer.

There hadn’t been any choice, honestly. She’d loved her mother. With her father dead and her brother too involved with his buddies and running around, she’d been the only person her mother had. Loyalty and love had kept her frozen and trapped in New York. Getting a copywriting job was the best she’d been able to do in the mecca of journalism excellence. She couldn’t take the TV job offer in Nashville. Nor the newspaper one in Birmingham. Both had offered her a start, a foot in the door. All the offers, though, had been impossible. Leaving her mom at her most desperate hour wasn’t possible. Thus, for the last four years, she’d traveled back to Brooklyn every night to be her mother’s nurse and companion.

But when her mom had finally died three months ago, she’d thought… Well, she’d begun to dream anew. Only to be hit with her brother’s death and the threat to her existence.

“
Skatá
!”

His voice entranced her. Unwillingly. Even when he swore.

Whether he was rattling off instructions in his native tongue or rolling his accent around the English commands he barked into his phone, his voice spun around her and into her. Rich and vibrant. The long vowels, the crisp cadence. The deep, masculine growls when he was displeased. The sibilant timbre of his tone when an employee pleased him.

What would he sound like in bed?

She wrenched herself away from the thought. What the heck was wrong with her? She’d barely survived their argument in his bedroom with her confidence intact. Imagining a wholly different kind of scenario, in a bedroom with him, would be a recipe for complete annihilation.

Smoothing her hands down her black leggings, she tried to ignore the nagging zig and zag of attraction zipping through her blood. Thank God it was only his voice attracting her. Nothing else did.

Not true, not true
, her libido whispered.

She refused to acknowledge the thought. Men were trouble. Every single time. Every one of them. From her father to her uncles to her brother, to her one attempt at forming a relationship with a man. All of them spelled disaster for her. This man would be no different.

Disaster.

Unless she kept her distance.

An easy task, since he’d hardly noticed her existence after she agreed to his scheme.

She’d had no choice.

His grandfather’s heart attack had changed everything about her dilemma. She couldn’t walk away from the charming woman she’d talked to on the phone only a day ago. A woman who was now nearly hysterical with the fear of losing her husband. Aetos Zenos might be the devil himself, but his grandmother was a nice old woman who needed support.

She wants you to come to Greece
, he’d said.

You placed yourself in this position
, he’d said.

You owe her
, he’d said.

All true. She couldn’t divulge the lie she’d put into motion at this critical time in the old woman’s life. She couldn’t possibly force this woman to confront the fact her grandson was nothing but a liar and there was no dearly loved wife in existence.

The guilt had billowed inside her as she contemplated her next move.

Or I can call the police
, he threatened.

I can make your life hell
, he claimed.

I can destroy you
, he warned.

The reminder of the hell she faced outside the brownstone had turned the tide. He might be a devil, but there were other devils waiting for her. Better to go to Greece and console a scared old woman than walk onto the streets of New York City. She’d face certain disaster then, instead of mere threats of impending doom from this man across from her.

We’ll only be there for a few days
, he’d gritted.

As if the thought of being with his family was anathema to him.

You’ll only have to pretend for a few hours until my
pappoús
is out of danger
, he’d growled.

He’d reverted to his native tongue to name his grandfather, the Greek word sounding forced and yet poignant.

After that, I’ll pay you
, he’d grimaced.
Pay you more, much more than you asked for.

Guilt and embarrassment lit her cheeks. Exactly as they had when he’d said the words. He hadn’t noticed at the time, as he’d been marching around his bedroom barking out orders for his plane to be readied. He wouldn’t notice now, would he?

Nat glanced over to meet a pair of dark eyes. Eyes pinned on her.

“What are you thinking?” He flipped his laptop closed.

Horror of horrors. She had no wish for his eagle-eyed gaze to land on her. “Not anything you need to know.”

“As much as it infuriates me, I have to disagree.”

Not in a million years would she admit to her feelings of disgrace at asking for money. Yes, she was in a desperate position, but she’d never asked for money from anyone in her life. Not since the day she’d refused her allowance from her father, having realized where his wealth came from. At fifteen, she’d gone out and gotten a job. She’d paid for her own college education. She’d paid for her own clothes. Hell, she’d even paid for her own food.

She glanced down and noticed her hands were twisting in her lap, white knuckles contrasting with the dark black of her leggings. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“Again, I disagree.” His long fingers tapped on the top of the laptop, the rapping sound clanking on her nerves. “I need to know quite a bit about you before we land and meet my family.”

His family. Figuring out this marriage was a complete farce. Catching on to the fact she and he hated each other. Deciding she wasn’t a perfect wife. Not a wife at all.

Her hands turned sweaty. “No.”

A disgusted sigh came from the other side of the plane. “I’d pegged you earlier as having a bit of sense. Don’t turn stupid on me at this stage.”

His cynical disdain fired her temper. She jerked her head up and met his stare with a frown. Which matched his. “Just because I disagree with you doesn’t make me stupid. Don’t underestimate me because I’m female.”

He blinked. As if surprised once more that she dared to challenge him. The long, dark lashes tipped with honey gold caught the light from above. His eyes were black? Brown? She had a nearly uncontrollable urge to jump out of her seat and run across the aisle to investigate.

“I never underestimate a female.” His words were crisp with animosity. “I never underestimate the chaos they can create.”

Her unwilling attraction to him snapped, as if he’d cut the thread running between them with a pair of sharp scissors. “You really need to get some therapy about your issues with women.”

“
Ef̱charistó
.” A cruel smile edged his mouth. “I appreciate your concern,
téleia
gynaíka mou
.”

His accent swept through her once more, the pitch low and male, the rhythm dulcet and flowing. She shrugged it away with irritation. He was rude to speak to her in a language she didn’t understand. “What did you call me?”

A golden brow arched at her annoyed tone. “Nothing disparaging, I assure you. I promise to call you only loving words as long as we are with my family.”

“Right,” she snorted. “But as soon as we’re away from your family—”

“Then I will call you what you truly are.” His eyes hardened into stone.

They stared at each other, a deep, dark silence flowing between them, his judgment swinging like a sword above her head.

Liar. Thief. Blackmailer.

She stopped herself from shivering.

“Enough of this,” he finally said. “I need to know some pertinent facts about you. Also, we need to get some things straight before we land.”

A sharp stab of apprehension sliced through her. This was impossible. Trying to appear as a loving couple when they already despised each other wasn’t going to fly. Pretending to be lovers in front of his relatives wasn’t realistic. “It’s never going to work,” she blurted. “You’re being ridiculous to think it will.”

“You will make it work.” His words hit her like a slap. “Or you will be the one to pay.”

“Me?” A heated anger stomped down the apprehension. “There’s two of us in this game.”

“My family is aware of my disposition.”

“What? Cold and hard?”

He ignored her insults. Instead, he focused on rolling down the sleeves of his shirt and fastening his cufflinks. “They won’t expect any extravagant displays of lover-like behavior from me.”

She sucked in a breath at the thought of him—

“Yet they will expect love and devotion from you.”

Just as she couldn’t imagine him as a lover, she couldn’t imagine herself loving him. “No.”

“
Nai
.” He waved his hand at the surrounding opulence. The cream leather of the seats they sat in also covered a long couch strewn with silk pillows. The wide, carved side table glittered with its inlaid glass. A cashmere blanket she’d used when she’d slept still hung over her seat. His eyes drilled into her. “Do you honestly think I’m going to let you live on my dime and not demand you follow my rules?”

“I’m not living—”

“You’ve been living on my dime for almost two weeks and I don’t see you waving your own money around.” He glared. “I didn’t hear you offer to pay for your trip here either.”

“I don’t have—”

“Also, there’s your appeal for more of my money.”

Guilt and embarrassment bubbled once more. She couldn’t think of anything to say.

“So you will do what I tell you to do. You will be my loving, adoring wife for the duration of this trip.” His harsh demand filled the cabin. “You will convince my family of your sincere love for me.”

Impossible. The word popped into her head again. Still, what were her choices? Risk his wrath? She remembered the tone of his voice in the bar when he talked about females. That tone matched the one he’d used when they’d been in his bedroom together. It appeared as if she’d been dumb enough to jump from the mob pot into the even hotter fire of a Greek’s revenge.

“You had enough acting skills to convince my housekeeper,” he continued his pitiless pursuit of his point. “You can certainly coo like a typical woman for a couple of days.”

“I suppose you’re used to that behavior.”

“Sure.” He shrugged, a nonchalant gesture. “It comes with the territory.”

Nat narrowed her eyes. Did he think his money was the draw? Seriously? She despised him, but could not deny his powerful masculine appeal. She’d bet her last dollar on the fact he’d had swarms of women circling around him before he’d earned his first dollar. Or maybe he’d always been rich.