Tempted By Her Greek Tycoon

He gestured to the paperwork on his desk.

‘I have work to do. I’ll see you here tomorrow morning at seven.’

She made a face. ‘What about love?’

‘It’s not part of the equation.’

By the puzzlement in her expression he could see that he needed to explain further.

‘I’m marrying for two reasons, Ms Jones. To fulfil a clause that is present in the lease of an Italian hotel I wish to purchase, and to have someone who will assist me in the day-to-day operation of the business, with a specific focus on people management and supporting me in managing my family.’

Georgie eyed him dubiously for a moment. ‘Am I right in assuming that a marriage contract would be drawn up?’

‘My legal director is working on it at the moment. It will be a two-year contract with a generous salary and bonus package.’

She shrugged. ‘It’s not conventional...but who knows? It might work for the right woman. Someone who would like the opportunity to be part of the Christou Group.’

She moved forward and shook his hand firmly.

‘I’m looking forward to working here,’ she said. Then she turned to leave and slowly, oh, so slowly, took tiny steps towards the door.

He tried to go back to his paperwork. But his eyes refused to obey.

She flicked her head and for a moment he caught a glimpse of the knot holding her bikini top beneath the heavy weight of her long hair. His fingers itched with the impulse to pull at that string. To undress this mermaid.

At the door she wobbled as she turned to him. And then, with that oh, so sweet and cheery smile, warm hazel eyes twinkling, she said, ‘See you bright and early.’

When she had disappeared from view he stood and stared out towards the Saronic Gulf.

He needed to focus on what mattered. Successfully relaunching The Korinna. Getting his family functioning again. Finding himself a wife.

Why, then, did he get the feeling he was going to struggle to ignore his new PA?

Chapter Two (#uf8563532-bef1-5e7f-be73-5a4263030674)

LOUKAS THREW OFF his bedclothes, his heart pumping.

What was that noise?

In the pitch-dark he fumbled for his phone.

Four forty-one.

There it was again. A soft banging.

He eased out of the bed and grabbed the gym shorts he had left out the night before.

He slowly opened his bedroom door.

The sound was coming from downstairs.

He bunched his fists and crept along the corridor, his bare feet moving silently across the tiled floor.

His nostrils twitched.

He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, bewildered for a moment, his mind a dizzying blend of childhood memories, his heart kicking against his chest.

He shook his head, trying to make sense of it all, trying to shake off the disorientation of waking from a deep sleep to the reminder of his mother’s baking.

Slowly the penny dropped.

His house guest.

Thee mou! He was going to kill Nikos...and probably her too.

Downstairs, he followed the corridor to the kitchen-dining room at the far end of the villa.

The dining area was in darkness, but the recessed kitchen lights reflected like satellites at night off the angled bank of patio doors out onto the terrace.

He followed the sweet, seductive scent of baking, heard the soft thud of an oven door closing, cursing Nikos every step of the way.

He had back-to-back meetings later today. There were management problems at their hotel on Hydra, and yet more planning problems with their hotel on Santorini. He needed his sleep disturbed like he needed a hole in the head.

He pulled up short of the kitchen.

Who the hell...?

Thrown, he stared at the woman who was busy transferring items from a baking tray to a wire cooling rack. Barefoot, and dressed in lilac pyjama shorts and a cropped white T-shirt, she was humming to herself.

Who was she?

And then she turned ever so slightly, and those full lips, high cheekbones and glittering eyes were unmistakable.

‘Georgie?’

* * *

Georgie screamed and dropped the baking tray. The tray ricocheted off the edge of the kitchen counter with a clang, flipped onto its side and plummeted straight down, the corner catching the middle of her foot.

She yelped at the sharp pain and jumped back, hopping on her uninjured foot. But then she stood on one of the just-out-of-the-oven croissants scattered on the floor. The croissant crunched under her weight before becoming firmly attached to her sole. She yelped again and shot up to sit on the kitchen counter, frantically shaking her foot in a bid to remove the scorching hot pastry.

The pastry dropped to the floor with a disgruntled plop.

She stared down at her throbbing feet in disbelief before daring to turn towards Loukas.

‘Georgie?’ he said again.

Why did he sound so confused?