Greek Millionaire, Unruly Wife

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Also by Sun Chara (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

About HarperImpulse (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 1 (#u2fc0927f-6f23-5684-8404-2da29f8cb010)

“I’ll take that one.”

“The green gown, Monsieur Leonadis?”

“No, the model.”

The man chuckled. “The model’s not for sale, monsieur.”

“You wanna bet?” Michalis Leonadis loosened his tie, lifted an arrogant eyebrow at the sales manager of the Haute Couture show in Paris, and geared up for battle…not with the manager but…with her. Tracking the model every step with his slitted gaze, he slipped a hand inside the pocket of his jacket and extracted a card, then a pen.

Julia, strutting down the runway and steaming up the ballroom in the Hôtel de Crillon had cost him a marriage, and a billion dollars in a Tokyo deal gone belly-up. As if that hadn’t been enough, his head of security informed him she’d recently given—

Applause broke out, splintering his thoughts, and spiking his fury…his passion. For revenge.

She’d ripped his heart out. Shredded his pride. Cost him.

Her untimely exit had rocked his sphere and his bank account. She nearly bankrupted him. He’d put everything on hold to search for her, and to clean up the legal mess his uncle’s amour had created when she’d charmed…er…scammed the old guy into signing half the Leonadis fortune to her and ultimately her heir. The fortune Michalis had slaved over years to amass.

He set his jaw, batted that distraction from his mind, and turned his laser sharp eyes back to the supermodel, his present dilemma.

When he found out Julia had been living it up in Paris, he’d shut her out, and scrambled to salvage his business and stay afloat—he’d waste no more time on her. He was better off without her.

A spike lodged in his aorta, but he ignored the sting.

He clamped his teeth, his breath rumbling in his chest and escaping through his nose in a hostile sound. How dare she keep that asecret from him?

Cold, calculating bi—the expletive stinging his tongue was smothered by shouts of “Brava!” from the audience.

He scrawled a message on his business card, adrenaline pumping him to action.

She’d definitely pay. He curled his lip. His way.

Michalis slapped the card in the man’s hand. “Make sure she gets it.”

The man glanced at the bold insignia of the Leonadis Cruise Line on the card and inclined his head. “Oui, Monsieur Leonadis.”

Michalis tuned him out.

He liked things simple. She’d been anything but.

He liked to keep his focus razor-sharp, his mind alert, his instinct in play and quantum leap over his competition. That biz acumen had held him in good stead when, years ago, he’d taken over his uncle’s run-down tourist boat rentals in Athens and built it into a mega international shipping line. At thirty-eight he still thrived on the thrill, the challenge. Julia’d been that, and he’d conquered her resistance, caught her; an unbidden smile skimmed his mouth, then morphed into a snarl.

He’d given her everything—he’d given her the world. And in return, at the first sign of rough waters, she’d jumped ship and created a tidal wave of confusion.

But now, she looked none the worse for it. And that rankled his ego.

The stylist had swept her sun-bleached hair up, and the dresser had fitted her into a body-hugging gown, matching her eyes and the emeralds dangling from her ears. The high collar and flared hem, a demure contrast to her sultry gaze, pouty mouth, and the sway of her hips as she worked the catwalk.

Worked the room.

Cool. Sexy. Seductive.

The male clientele salivated and the women gasped in admiration.

He smirked. So much for the sophisticated façade of the VIPs who’d flocked to the fashion extravaganza. His smirk turned into a guffaw. She’d gotten to them… engaged their imagination…triggering fantasies and loosening purse strings.

He should know. His already rock hard abs tensed. She’d gotten under his skin…his psyche. Shaking his head, he chuckled; an empty sound. Past tense…had. No more. The padlock on his heart and ice in his veins proved it.

He’d not end up a stooge like his uncle.

Nodding to the man holding his business card, Michalis strode to the exit, but couldn’t resist tossing her another glance over his shoulder.

A hot babe. He jutted his chin. A classy stunner. That’s what had attracted him in the first place—amusement tugged the corner of his lips. How did she manage to walk on those high heels? He shrugged, about to continue on his way, but then braked to a stop.

She paused, pivoted. And the fur stole slipped from her shoulders, the edgy cut of the neckline plunging to the small of her back.

His chest tightened, his hand fisted, a growl built in his throat.

Beneath the stage lights, her bare back gleamed smooth, flawless…and his fingers tingled, his memory kindling. He’d touched her…her skin hot beneath his fingers…his mouth nibbling down to the curve of her hip—he ground his teeth, his pulse thudding—he’d cupped her buttocks, turned her over, her breasts scorching his chest, his mouth on hers…she’d wrapped her legs around him, holding him close, and he had thrust deep inside her—

A crescendo of sound from the band splintered his erotic fantasy, and he blinked, gulping the growl away.

She inched off a long glove, tossed it to the audience and did the same with the other, to the eruption of wolf whistles. Then, dismissing her admirers with a quirk of an eyebrow, she placed a hand on her hip and sauntered away, the stole trailing at her feet. At the top of the ramp, she paused, glanced over her shoulder, hinted a smile, winked and disappeared back stage to deafening applause and cheers of, “Encore!”

Michalis grazed his jaw with his knuckles.

Her signals were practiced and unmistakable. Luring…snaring… vanishing.