She Can't Say No to the Greek Tycoon

Sophie stumbled back a pace, horrified at what she’d almo

st done. The acrid taste of disappointment filled her mouth.

‘What is it?’ He took a step forward and she raised her hand to stop him. The soft linen of his shirt grazed her palm and she dropped her hand as if it burned. She couldn’t touch him. Not now.

‘It’s Fotini, isn’t it?’ she whispered. ‘You look at me like that because you’re thinking of her.’

Costas met her stunned, hurt gaze and felt as if the ground had opened up beneath his feet. If it weren’t for the pain in Sophie’s eyes, the hurt in her trembling lips, he might have laughed at the absurd idea.

His body ached with the effort of repressing his desire for her. He’d struggled not to follow his instinct and kiss her senseless as he’d wanted to ever since she’d sat down on that bed of pine needles.

Vivid images of him and Sophie, together on that soft carpet, had kept him fully occupied. So much so that he hadn’t been able to look at her—had turned instead to stare out into the distance. But the scent of her, the whisper-soft echo of her breath, the knowledge of her being there, so close to him, had tested his self-control beyond all reasonable limits.

Him pining for Fotini! For the woman who’d destroyed his belief in the possibility of marriage as a partnership. Who’d viewed their wedding simply as a stepping stone to more wealth she could squander. Who’d cruelly rejected her own daughter and taught him a bone-deep distrust of women. Beautiful women in particular.

He grimaced. He supposed he owed Fotini some thanks. She’d stripped the scales from his eyes. It was that experience alone that kept him sane in the face of the temptation Sophie offered.

He knew Sophie was no Fotini. Few women could be that self-absorbed and destructive. But since his marriage he understood that what he felt for Sophie was best dealt with in a bedroom: no strings attached.

Even so some part of him wanted to believe the fantasy he felt when he looked at Sophie—the illusory promise of a real partnership. But that was impossible.

Physical passion was all he trusted a woman to give him now. And his desire for Sophie had reached such combustible levels.

If only she weren’t so vulnerable from her mother’s death he’d have suggested a temporary liaison for their mutual pleasure. That was all he would ever offer another woman.

But he couldn’t in all honour seduce a girl whose grief for her mother was so fresh and painful.

It had been hell resisting her. And never more so than just now, when she’d stepped close and he’d had to summon every atom of will-power so as not to sweep her close and do something she might regret later.

‘You’ve got it wrong.’ His voice emerged as rough as gravel.

‘Have I? I’ve seen the photo of your wife in Eleni’s room. I know how similar we are.’

‘No!’ He paused, shocked by her mistake, searching for the words to explain without revealing the past which he and his daughter had to live with.

‘At first glance, yes, there’s a similarity. But not after that single, initial moment.’

Her eyes were wary and he wanted to reach out and fold her close, kiss her till the pain went away and the spark of desire ignited in her eyes.

He wanted this woman as he’d never wanted before. With a savage, gnawing hunger that threatened his pretensions to being a civilised man.

Sto Diavolo! She needed protecting from him.

‘Fotini will always have an important place as the mother of my daughter,’ he said slowly, choosing his words. ‘But ours was not a love match. We both wanted marriage and it was expected that love would grow with time.’ As it might have done if Fotini had been a different woman.

‘But believe me, Sophie,’ he looked down into her drowning, golden-brown eyes, ‘when I look at you it’s only you that I see. I can assure you absolutely that I’m not seeking a replacement for Fotini. And I never will.’

CHAPTER EIGHT

SOPHIE PUFFED AS she strode up the path to the house. The walk had been long and tiring but it hadn’t brought the peace she craved.

She kept replaying in her mind that scene at Phaestos. How close she’d come to making an utter fool of herself. She’d been so needy, reaching out to Costas like that. So sure he felt the spark between them too.

She stumbled as she recalled his words—his vehemence when he’d declared he never wanted a replacement for Fotini.

In other words, he didn’t want another woman in his life. He didn’t want her.

Sophie cringed at the memory, but still she couldn’t let it go. Try as she might to stop it, her mind kept circling back to that confrontation, trying to make sense of what had happened between them.