Sun Chara - Greek Millionaire, Unruly Wife

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.

She’d played that game on him, and every cell in his body sizzled with desire, but his mind defied the temptation.

The sensation warring inside him could be nothing more than his determination to recoup what belonged to him. What she’d stolen from him. He curled his lip in contempt and stomped from the ballroom, his pulse drilling into his ribs. His every move had to be a tactical tour de force to ensure a victory.

* * *

“ Merci beaucoup .” Julia kicked off her shoes and thanked the wardrobe girl helping her from the gown, the chiffon a caress upon her skin.

Unclipping the emeralds from her ears, she set them on the dresser, and a sigh struggled from deep inside her. Not long ago, she’d owned countless such designer gowns, shoes, jewelry, and had the man—the life—to go with it. A sound gurgled in her throat, and the girl cast her an odd look. Julia swallowed and turned away, blinking back the tears pressing against her lids.

In just three months, her dreams had soured, her fairytale marriage to the Greek billionaire fractured, but—a tremulous smile traced her mouth—she hadn’t come away empty handed.

She pulled a sweater over her head and slipped into her jeans, sucking in her tummy to get the zipper and snap to work. She grimaced. A few more pounds still to lose, but with the tricks of the trade, she managed to fit into the designer threads. Unclipping her hair, she fluffed it with her fingers, let it fall to her shoulders and rubbed her scalp with her fingertips. A hint of hairspray tainted the air. She twitched her nose and glanced in the mirror. Her makeup would have to wait ’til she got home.

“Ah, chéri .”

She glanced up from slipping on her ankle boots and smiled. “Hey, Chachee, how’d it go?”

“ Magnifique !” He kissed the tips of his fingers for emphasis.

“Of course, what else for Chachee Originals?” She grinned, plunked her wool beret on her head, grabbed her jacket and shoulder bag. “Brr.” She mocked a shiver. “Paris in the spring might be the stuff of dreams, but it’s freezing today.”

“Doesn’t have to be, chéri ,” he teased, wiggling his pierced brow. “You have an admirer.”

“You’re terrific at boosting a girl’s confidence, Charles.” She smiled and stepped toward the exit sign above the door. “But I gotta go.”

“Worth checking this one out.”

“Some other time.” A man wasn’t her priority right now, not since Michalis—a pang pierced her heart, and she shook her head, dispelling the taunting image. Michalis Leonadis had been her colossal blunder, and she wouldn’t think about him. Not now. Not ever.

“Oh, no.” Charles slapped a hand on his forehead and another against his heart in mock despair.

She laughed, and he put the card in her palm, folding her fingers over it.

“I’d go for him myself but—” He winked.

She laughed the louder, for Charles was as straight as they came, with a wife and a couple of kids. But his flamboyant style: blue locks and bejeweled hands, often gave rise to rumors in this highly-strung, fast-paced fashion industry. So, he nipped them in the bud with his brash repartee.

“But since I won’t—” He took her by the shoulders, spun her around, and gave her a nudge out the door. “—how ’bout you go check him out?”

“I can’t, Chach,” she said. “I gotta get home.”

He shrugged, walked past her and raising a hand, pointed toward the lobby.

“Oh, okay, I’ll take a peek on my way out.”

His chuckle echoed back to her. It brought a twitch of amusement to her lips, and then she sobered. She owed him a debt of gratitude. If he hadn’t booked her on the show, she wouldn’t have made the month’s rent. At twenty-eight, and having been away from the fashion circuit for over a year, modeling opportunities were few and far between.

Walking down the hallway, she looped the strap of her purse over her shoulder and opened her hand. She glanced at the card and got socked in the stomach. A gasp shot from her mouth. Her head spun, her limbs shook, and her pulse raced. The familiar signature zoomed in and out of focus. 8 p.m. Le Bar. ML . Bold, direct, like the man.

What was Michalis Leonadis doing on her doorstep after a year’s silence?

Perspiration oozed from her every pore, making her sweater stick to her skin even in the air-conditioned corridor. Michalis Leonadis, the man she’d loved, once…and the man she now hated with every fiber of her being.

What did he want ? Shivers iced her skin. What did he know ?

Could he know about—?

“Dear God, no.” Fear squeezed her heart, and her mouth felt thick with sawdust. A tremor ripped through her, and she collapsed against the wall, hyperventilating.

Julia choked down the bile rising in her throat and rushed into the bathroom. Gripping the counter, she leaned over the sink and sucked in mouthfuls of air, stemming the chills frisking her body. She twisted the faucet open, splashed water on her face and glanced in the wall-length mirror, the paleness of her skin evident even beneath her makeup.

“Michalis Leonadis.” His name fizzed between her teeth, acid on her tongue. She’d given him her heart, her body…everything, and he’d trampled on it. A whimper sounded from deep in her throat, and haunting memories flooded her mind…

“Michalis mou ,” she’d called, unlocking the door of their Athens penthouse. The breathtaking view of the Aegean Sea always brought a lift to her heart and a smile to her face; but it was nothing compared to the joy bursting in her heart from the doctor’s news that she wanted to share with her husband of three months.