The Greek's Christmas Bride

Apollo raised an unimpressed brow. He was so judgemental and so confident that he was right, Pixie thought in consternation. He was absolutely convinced that she had stolen his wallet and it would take an earthquake to shift him. Her stomach lurched again and she crossed her arms defensively, the sick dizziness of fear assailing her once more. She didn’t have his wallet but mud would stick. By tea time everyone local would know that the blonde stylist at Sally’s had been accused of theft. At the very least she could lose her job. She wasn’t so senior or talented that Sally would risk losing clients to her nearest competitor.

The policeman lifted the newspaper lying in the bin and, with an exclamation, he reached beneath it and lifted out a brown hide wallet. ‘Is this it?’

Visibly surprised, Apollo extended his hand. ‘Yes…’

‘When the coat stand tipped, your wallet must’ve fallen out into the bin,’ Sally suggested with a bright smile of relief at that sensible explanation.

‘Or Pixie hid it in the bin to retrieve at a more convenient time,’ Apollo murmured.

‘This situation need not have arisen had a proper search been conducted before I was called in,’ the policeman remarked. ‘You were very quick to make an accusation, Mr Metraxis.’

Impervious to the hint of censure, Apollo angled his arrogant dark head back. ‘I’m still not convinced my wallet ended up in the bin by accident,’ he admitted. ‘Pixie has a criminal background.’

Pixie froze in shocked mortification. How did Apollo Metraxis know that about her? That was private, that was her past and she had left it behind her a long time ago. ‘But not a criminal record!’ she flung back curtly, watching Apollo settle a bank note down on the desk and Sally hastily passing him his change.

‘We shouldn’t be discussing such things in public,’ the policeman said drily and took his leave.

‘Take the rest of the day off, Pixie,’ Sally urged uncomfortably. ‘I’m sorry I was so quick to call the police…but—’

‘It’s OK,’ Pixie said chokily, well aware that her employer’s business mantra was that the customer was always right and such an accusation had required immediate serious attention.

It was over. A faint shudder racked Pixie’s slender frame. The nightmare was truly over. Apollo had his wallet back even though he still couldn’t quite bring himself to accept that she hadn’t stolen it and hidden it in the rubbish bin. But it was over and the policeman had departed satisfied. The fierce tension that had held Pixie still left her in a sudden rush and she could feel herself crumpling like rice paper inside and out as a belated surge of tears washed the backs of her eyelids.

‘Excuse me,’ she mumbled and fled to the back room to pull herself together and collect her bag.

She sniffed and wiped her eyes, knowing she was messing up her eyeliner and not even caring. She wanted to go home and hug Hector. Pulling on her jacket, she walked back through the salon, trying not to be self-conscious about the fact that the customers who had witnessed the little drama were all staring at her. A couple who knew her called out encouraging things but Pixie’s entire attention was welded to the very tall male she could see waiting outside on the pavement. Why was Apollo still hanging around?

Of course, he wanted to apologise, she assumed. Why else would he be waiting? She stalked out of the door.

‘Pixie?’

‘You bastard!’ she hissed at him in a raw undertone. ‘Leave me alone!’

‘I came here to speak to you—’

‘Well, you’ve spoken to me and now you can…’ Pixie swore at him, colliding with his scorching green eyes and almost reeling back from the anger she saw there.

‘Get in the car. I’ll take you home,’ he said curtly.

Pixie swore at him again and, with a spluttering Greek curse and before she could even guess his intention, Apollo stooped and snatched her off her feet to carry her across the street.

Pixie thumped him so hard with her clenched fist, she hurt her knuckles.

‘You’re a violent little thing, aren’t you?’ Apollo framed rawly as he stuffed her in the back seat of the waiting limo.

‘Let me out of this car!’ Pixie gasped, flinging herself at the door on the opposite side as he slid in beside her.

‘I’m taking you home,’ Apollo countered, rubbing his cheekbone where it was turning slightly pink from her punch.

‘I hope you get a black eye!’ Pixie spat. ‘Stop the car…let me out! This is kidnapping!’

‘Do you really want to walk down the street with your make-up smeared all over your face?’

‘Yes, if the alternative is getting a lift from you!’

But the limousine was already turning a corner to draw up outside the shabby building where she lived, so the argument was academic. As the doors unlocked, Pixie leapt out onto the pavement.

She might be petite in appearance but she was wiry and strong, Apollo acknowledged, and, not only did she know how to land a good punch, she also moved like greased lightning. He climbed out of the car at a more relaxed pace.

Breathing rapidly, Pixie paused in the hall with the door she had unlocked ajar. ‘How did you know that about my background?’

‘I’ll tell you if you invite me in.’

‘Why would I invite you in? I don’t like you.’

‘You know I can only be here to see you and you have to be curious,’ Apollo responded with confidence.

‘I can live with being curious,’ Pixie told him, stepping into her room and starting to snap the door shut.

‘But evidently you don’t think you can live without your foolish little brother…do you?’ Apollo drawled and the door stopped an inch off closing and slowing opened up again.

‘What do you know about Patrick?’ Pixie asked angrily.

Apollo strode in. ‘I know everything there is to know about you, your brother, your background and your friend Holly. I had you both privately investigated when Holly first appeared out of nowhere with baby Angelo.’

Pixie studied him in shock and backed away several feet, which took her to the side of her bed. Even with the bed pushed up against one wall it was a small room. She had sold off much of the surplus stuff she had gathered up over the years before moving in. ‘Why would you have us both investigated?’ she exclaimed.

‘I’m more cautious than Vito. I wanted to know who he was dealing with so that if necessary I could advise and protect him,’ Apollo retorted with a slight shrug of a broad shoulder as he peered into a dark corner where something pale with glimmering eyes was trying to shrink into the wall.

‘Just ignore Hector. Visitors, particularly male ones, freak him out,’ Pixie told him thinly. ‘I should think that Vito is old enough to protect himself.’

‘Vito doesn’t know much about the dark side of life.’

It was no surprise that Apollo considered himself superior in that regard, Pixie conceded. From childhood, scandal had illuminated Apollo’s life to the outside world: his family’s wealth, his father’s many marriages to beautiful women half his age, the break-ups, the divorces and the court battles that had followed. Apollo’s whole life had been lived in a histrionic headline-grabbing storm of publicity.

And there he stood in her little room, the perfect figurehead for a Greek billionaire, a living legend of a playboy with a yacht known to attract an exceptional number of gorgeous half-naked women. It seemed unfair that a male with such wealth and possessed of such undoubted intelligence should also have been blessed with such intense good looks. Apollo, like his namesake the sun god, was breathtakingly handsome. And he had undeniably taken Pixie’s breath away the first time she’d seen him at Holly’s wedding.

Apollo might be a toxic personality but when he was around he would always be the centre of attention. He had sleek dark brows, glorious green eyes, a classic nose and a stubborn, wilful mouth that could only be described as sensual. His sex appeal was electrifying and it was a sex appeal that Pixie would very much have liked to be impervious to. Sadly, h

owever, she was a normal living, breathing woman with the usual healthy dose of hormones. And that was all it was…the breathlessness, the crazy race of her heartbeat, the tight fullness of her breasts and that strange squirmy, sensitive feeling low in her pelvis. It was all hormonal and as reflexive and trivial in Apollo’s radius as her liking for chocolate, not something she needed to beat herself up about.