Tempted By Her Greek Tycoon

He really should go down to the villa and drop off his weekend bag, have a shower, and something to eat. But, keen to see the completed hotel, he rushed on down a sharp incline in the avenue until the pine forest gave way to the vista of The Korinna itself.

A new two-storey extension had been constructed on one side of the hotel—a reception area on the ground floor, the headquarters for the Christou Group on the first. The sea-facing hotel restaurant and the bars at the front of the original building had uninterrupted views of the Saronic Gulf, as had the seven levels of bedrooms above them.

For a brief moment, taking in just how well the architects had married the old hotel with not only the new reception but also the new spa that stood on the crest of the hill above the hotel, he felt the constant heavy weight in his chest lift. Maybe the endless building problems, the significant hit to his profit line, the tense calls with his banks, the disruption of his business and the arguments with Nikos and his other siblings would be worth it.

But that moment proved to be very brief. Nanosecond-brief, in fact.

He narrowed his eyes and moved closer to the reception area. The sliding entrance doors didn’t budge. No wonder, as they were firmly locked shut.

And that, no doubt, was because the floor beyond them was only half tiled, the walls still unpainted and none of the bespoke Italian furniture was in place.

He sucked in some air.

Nikos had obviously been banking on him not returning to the island until the weekend, as he had originally planned, so he would not to have to admit that once again they had missed their deadline.

He was going to throttle Nikos. No. In fact he was going to banish him to a monastery on some remote island where he’d have no access to women or drink.

He peered through the reception area doors again.

Was he even more stressed than he’d thought he was? Was he losing his mind?

He would have sworn he’d just seen a pirate saunter through the lounge area beyond Reception, waving a cutlass in the air.

Sudden ear-splitting music startled him and he whacked his head on the reception door’s glass pane.

Ready to murder someone, he twisted around, holding a hand to his throbbing forehead, and instantly knew where to find his party-loving brother.

But then, having taken no more than two steps in the direction of the music, he had come to a complete stop.

In the name of all the saints!

Hurtling down the steep incline of the avenue on a bicycle, her long blonde hair flowing behind her like a jet stream, wearing nothing but a silver bikini top and a scrap of blue material that revealed every tantalising inch of her long golden legs, a woman appeared to be about to crash into the door. Into a glass pane that had cost a fortune and had added to the renovation delays by being delivered weeks behind schedule.

Inches from the precious window, she came to a screeching halt. Then, without a care, she hopped off and placed her bicycle in the bike rack to one side of the doors. With an air of ease and happiness she unravelled the scrap of material from around her hips, the deceptively long length of fine blue silk gauze catching in the light sea breeze and floating out behind her like the train of a sea goddess. Beneath she was wearing nothing but silver bikini bottoms.

He should look away. Be a gentleman. But his eyes remained glued to the way her hips twirled seductively as she began to wrap the material around her narrow waist and then down over her beautifully curved hips. She continued smoothing the material over her thighs, and didn’t stop until she had bound her ankles together. Thus wrapped, from the waist down, she straightened up and adjusted the material whilst staring at her reflection in the window and giving an excited smile.

Why was she dressed as a mermaid?

Again, what on earth was going on? This was a five-star resort, not some theme park.

Only able to take tiny steps, the mermaid inched her way towards where he was still concealed by a canopy pillar. He was about to step forward and make her aware that he was there, but before he could do so she turned, her mouth dropping open when she spied him.

Then, in the quickest recovery he’d ever seen, she gave him a smile and a wave, her eyes shining with delight. ‘Oh, hi! I’m so glad you were able to make it back in time for the party. Did Nikos call you?’

Baffled by her question, he asked, ‘What party? Why would Nikos call me?’

Her dark brows pulled together. ‘Nikos had to leave unexpectedly this afternoon, but he had organised a staff party for this evening, to celebrate the reopening of the hotel... He asked me to host it in his absence.’

He pointed behind him to the unfinished reception area, his index finger stabbing the air, his frustration with Nikos and his frustration over the fact that despite his best efforts he could never manage to control any of his siblings leaking out in growled response.

‘A party? The hotel isn’t even finished. Now is not the time for a party!’

The mermaid’s smile dimmed. ‘He thought that the staff deserved a thank-you.’ She pointed vaguely in the direction of the terrace. ‘I’d better go and check that everything’s going okay. I’m running late and by the sounds of it the party has already started.’

He stepped closer to her, trying to keep his eyes from drifting down to her softly curved body. Her smile wavered even more as his eyes duelled with hers.

He yanked his gaze away. Cracked his jaw. And then he asked bluntly, ‘Who are you?’

She hesitated for a moment, as though confused by his question, and then with a laugh stepped towards him.

‘Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve seen so many photos of you and heard so much about you from your siblings that I forgot we have never met.’ She held out her hand to him. ‘I’m Georgie Jones. Your new PA.’

* * *

Given Loukas’s dismayed expression, it took a Herculean effort for Georgie to keep her smile in place. Heartbroken or not, Nikos Christou was going to get a piece of her mind when he got back to Talos.

‘My what?’

She dropped her hand at his aghast tone.

Crikey, Loukas was very different from his brothers. Even more so than the family photos suggested. Sombre, intense, dark... And he was enormous—at least six foot four. With the build to match.

Light golden-brown eyes, a classically handsome face, thick dark brown hair... The only flaw in his perfection was the seriously hacked off tension emanating from his every pore—that and the murderous glint in his eye.

Her move to Talos wasn’t supposed to be ending up like this, with her broke and at the mercy of a Greek god who looked as if he had reached the end of his patience.

Moving to Talos had been her dad’s dream. After living in endless countries with her restless father, Georgie had been sceptical about his declaration that this was where he wanted to settle. Last summer, when she had finally agreed to visit this small island off the coast of Athens in the Argo-Saronic Gulf with him, she had been sure that this would be yet another failed quest by him to find happiness.

But from the moment she’d seen Talos she had understood why he had fallen in love with this island of emerald waters, golden beaches and dense pine forests. Fallen in love with the whitewashed, blue-shuttered, terracotta-roofed houses that tumbled down the island’s craggy coastline. Fallen in love with its tranquillity, with the way time slowed down here.

And as her dad had drawn up his plans to renovate the run-down farmhouse he’d been in the process of buying she had seen first-hand how the island had transformed him. The light, the heat, the stunning sea view from the farmhouse...

The friendliness of their new neighbours and the slow pace of the island had eased her dad’s perpetual nervous energy. At the end of their week-long visit, she too had believed that he had finally found a place he could be happy in.

But her poor dad had never got to fulfil his dream. A fatal ruptured aortic aneurysm a month after he had bought the property had ended it all.

Georgie needed to fulfil his dream for him. It was going to be her last goodbye to her soft-hearted dad, who had never got over her mum walking out on them. She intended to keep the house, run it as a guest house. She would run a sea-swimming business during the summer months and leave the island during the winter months for work elsewhere.

Three months ago—just four weeks after her dad had died—she had left her job in Spain and moved here, convinced that her savings would enable her to renovate the property and establish her business.

But unforeseen building delays had eaten up the emergency fund she had factored into her budget and she was rapidly running out of money. The building work was coming to an end, and she had the funds to pay for that, but not for the final payment on the furniture she had ordered for the guest rooms.

She needed to work for a few weeks to earn enough for the final instalment, otherwise she would be forced to cancel her summer bookings and move elsewhere to rebuild her funds.

She flexed her hands, feeling her broken nails from weeks of endless gardening and DIY pinching the callused skin of her palms, and faced her new boss. Well, she hoped he was her new boss.

Keep smiling, Georgie. You need this job. There’s no other work on the island at the moment.