The Greeks Bundle (EBOOK)

Perfect pastry = a perfect business

Nothing on this earth could make her happier than that fact. Nothing at all. Certainly not that oh, so elusive thing as a perfect man for her.

No matter what her mother said.

“Mr. Perfect’s on the front page again.”

Sophie glanced away from dabbing black buttercream frosting on the witches. “Jorge. Why do you read that rag?”

“To keep you up-to-date on your friends.” His enormous body lounged in the one chair she allowed in the industrial-sized bakery. Made of hard plastic, the thing was uncomfortable, yet Jorge always managed to spend plenty of time sitting on it, waiting for the deliveries to be ready. With his stack of New York City tabloids at hand.

“Alexander Stravoudas is not my friend.” She leaned over the long steel table and returned her focus to what was important: her business. Not news about a guy who’d exited her life and Melanie’s a month ago.

“He was, once upon a time.”

“No, he wasn’t.” He’d been Mel’s fiancé for one brief moment, once upon a time, but Sophie, thankfully, had been able to talk some sense into her friend. Mel was now where she belonged—with Jack. And Mr. Suave-and-Debonair had moved on to…well, on to whatever. She didn’t care.

What she did care about was the long list of tasks she needed to complete this evening. She had to get these two hundred cookies done so Jorge could deliver them to the Halloween party on time. Then she needed to go into her dinky office and figure out how to execute on the bride’s request to add a picture of her cat to the wedding cake. Last, but not least, she must make sure the apricot-filled kolaches were cool enough to sprinkle powdered sugar over them so they’d be ready in time for tomorrow’s show. This was going to be a long night.

A shiver went through her. Everything was happening. Just like she’d prayed and dreamed.

Pure Pastry was becoming a raging success.

“He’s going to be raging when he reads this,” Jorge mumbled from behind the newspaper. 

Straightening, she sighed as she rubbed her lower back. “What now?”

“He’s lost another contract.” The newspaper crackled in the big man’s hands as he turned a page. “Add to that, supposedly Chi-Chi Vangra turned him down when he asked her out.”

“That’s too bad.” She couldn’t help the sarcasm winding through the comment. She didn’t like the man, hadn’t from the moment she met him. Maybe it had been the way he looked at Mel—as if she were some amusing toy—even after putting an eye-popping diamond on her finger. Or likely it was the over-the-top wealth and accompanied arrogance she found to be such a turnoff. Or perhaps it was her gut knowledge that the man would move on to a new woman within days of splitting with her best friend. 

And look. Her gut had been right. As always.

“You’re not very sympathetic.” Jorge stuck his bald head above the top of the paper and eyed her. “The poor guy’s endured a hard month.”

“I’m sure he’ll survive.” Her dry tone sugared each word.

“Ever since your best bud ended their engagement, it’s been one thing after the other.” The old man tapped the newspaper with one stubby finger. “Before, the guy could do no wrong.”

“I bet he did a lot of things wrong before Mel broke up with him.” She leaned back down to finish the last cookie. “The tabloids just didn’t cover it.”

“Well, they’ve changed their tune.” He eased himself off the chair, his large belly rolling impressively over tight jeans. “Now he can do no right.”

Sophie ignored the waving newspaper and the chatter. It was nothing to her. The news. The man. She had far more important things to think about than Alexander the Great, as the tabs labeled him. “Help me box these cookies and you can be on your way.”

“Can I have one?” Jorge already knew the answer. 

“One,” she warned as she slid a sheaf of folded boxes from under the table. 

The delivery man sauntered across the room and peered at the throng of witches and ghosts and pumpkins. Choosing one of the scariest ghosts, he hummed as the sugar cookie crumbled in his mouth. 

She couldn’t help the smile crossing her face.

That. 

That sound was what hooked her at the tender age of ten. Her grandpa and dad made exactly that sound when they tasted her first batch of brownies. The batch she’d done by herself without any assistance from her beaming grandma and proud mom.

“Damn, Soph.” Jorge chewed and swallowed. “You better lock these cookies away from me or there won’t be any left by the time I get to the party.”

“You wouldn’t eat them all.” She started to stack the cookies in the boxes, placing parchment paper between each layer. “It was your idea to have me donate them to the Harlem Center in the first place.”

“They’re good kids.”

“And so,” her quick hands continued to fill the boxes, “they deserve a treat.”

His answering chuckle stopped abruptly when the doorbell chimed. “Who is that buzzing after hours?” he grumbled. “I don’t like it that you’re here alone after the others go home.”

The others being her two assistants. Who, even if they were here, would be useless in driving off any bad guys. Megan would probably start crying and collapse at any sign of danger. Tamika would be too busy tweeting her best friend about the news she was being robbed to do any damage. “I highly doubt any bad guy is going to ring the doorbell to announce his presence.”

Ignoring the continued grumbling from Jorge, she headed for the steel door. 

She’d been lucky to find this space right smack dab in the middle of the Lower East Side. She needed a place in the heart of New York City since most of her customers lived on the island. Two years ago, when it was clear her exposure on the TV show was going to skyrocket sales, her small walk-up apartment down the street could no longer handle the baking orders.

She’d needed space. Lots of space. 

So she’d definitely lucked out with this place. The twenty-five-thousand square-foot building once housed an eighties’ nightclub, but had lain vacant for years. However, some developer came along a couple of years ago and started leasing units just as she began her search. The place was rough and rundown. Still, with some help from her friends, she’d managed to turn it into what she needed.

Wrestling with the stubborn lock, she finally wrenched the door open.

To a surprise.

Sophie baked surprises. Supplied surprises. 

She personally did not appreciate surprises. Of any kind.

She stared at him, trying to understand why. Why had he come here to surprise her? 

“Sophia.” He’d always called her by her full name and it always irritated her.

The October sun sank low behind the tall spires of endless skyscrapers. But the darkness in back of him merely highlighted the brilliance of his presence. He radiated energy and heat and bright. She’d forgotten his vitality, the way his appearance always seemed to suck out her breath.

She’d forgotten how much he irritated her.

He didn’t smile. Not as he did when they first met. Not when he’d still been in full campaign mode to win her over. He didn’t flash his white teeth or bat his blue eyes or do anything to make her agreeable to whatever he was going to pitch.

No. Instead, Alexander Stravoudas appeared very much like he’d looked the last time she saw him.

When she gave him back the bling.

“May I come in?” The deep voice thrummed along her spine as it did every time he spoke in her presence.

Which had irritated her too, come to think of it. “What are you doing here?”

A broad, bulky hand landed on the door. Her gaze swung to the hand attached to the long, lean arm which was attached to the tall, lean man standing right in front of her.

The hand also irritated. Not only because it was now trying to nudge the door open, but because it was not what an artist’s hand should be. She’d been unwillingly fascinated when she stared down at his hand as he held Mel’s, showing off the outrageous rock he bought to announce he’d found a bride. His hand bemused her then, and it bemused her now. This hand should not be designing such beautiful buildings.

He possessed the hands of a brute. Not an artist.

The brute’s voice dipped in displeasure. “Let me in.”

Oh, there. There was another source of infinitely more than mere irritation. There was what had sealed his doom in her judgment when she experienced it for the first time.

His arrogance. His complete disregard for any other person’s point of view.

Like hers.

She’d only mentioned the subject because it was important to Melanie. She wanted to make sure her buddy was going to continue with her work after the marriage. The work she spent four years in college studying.

“She doesn’t have to work,” he’d said, oozing his crappy conceit. “She’s going to be my wife.”

As if there could be no other position quite soooo wonderful as that. He hadn’t thought about how much good Melanie did every day at her work. He hadn’t thought about whether or not Mel would want to spend every one of her hours cooing over his greatness. He hadn’t thought about his future wife’s desires or the good she did every day. Not at all.

He’d only thought about himself.

Thank goodness Melanie had left him, and gone back to Jack and her work with the special-needs kids at the elementary school.

Thank goodness she, Ms. Sophia Charlotte Feuer, no longer needed to be nice to this man.

Folding her arms in front of her, she frowned. “Go away.”

“No.” The big hand didn’t nudge anymore. It slammed the door open and he stepped forward.

“Hey,” Jorge exclaimed in immediate outrage. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The brute glanced past her and smiled. 

Her delivery man went silent.

That smile. That was another one of the things she’d forgotten. She’d forgotten how irritated his smile made her. It made her itch. To slap or smack or geez, even punch. He had full lips, indecently so for a man. The lush fullness of the bowed upper, the ripeness of the lower jutting out, almost as if the man was pouting. The mouth was too much, too over-the-top.

The lips, the mouth…she hated to admit it…were perfect for him.

And worked perfectly well in entrancing men as well as women, when they broadened into a gloriously beautiful smile.

The one he wore right now. 

“I didn’t realize Sophia was entertaining.” He stepped right past her and thrust his brutish paw towards the older man. 

Who clutched it. Of course.

The charm offense. 

Another irritating thing she had noted about Alexander the Great. At the endless happy hours he hosted that she attended with Mel. Then, the long, insufferable week at his plush Hampton estate with the pre-wedding party. At all these events, she’d seen this trick of his do amazing stuff. Even she had to admit, the whole schtick was pretty damn incredible.

Within moments of entering a room, he had everyone in a dazzled stupor.

Within seconds of meeting a person, Alex Stravoudas had made a new lifelong friend.

Within days of meeting Melanie, he’d convinced her best friend—he was the guy.

But there was one bright, shining spot in the midst of all this capitulation to Mr. Perfect’s charm. During the entire three months he tried to win Sophie over, he’d never moved an inch towards his goal.

Which had really, really irritated him.

She was glad, proud even. Stravoudas deserved everything he got. He was nothing but a heartless con artist.

The con artist smiled at Jorge. “Call me Alex.”

The old man mumbled something indistinct, yet his whole body language spoke of waning anger and bluster. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. Exactly as she would have if Tamika or Megan were hanging around, panting and preening at the man, Sophie was going to have to be the one to throw the intruder out. “I want you to leave.”

He turned, his smile still in place. Except there was something frozen in those blue eyes of his. He didn’t like her any more than she liked him. Which begged the question as to why the heck he was here. 

She suppressed the whisper of curiosity.

“Ah, Sophia,” he said, as if the existence of Jorge had put her entirely from his mind. He’d done this before, after he understood she couldn’t be won over. Subtly putting her down. Diminishing her.

A lick of temper flared deep inside.

“Yes, Sophie.” She tightened her fingers on her arms. “The owner of this place.”

“Not really.” He paced across the room to the dinky office and glanced in. As if he were the owner.

She didn’t have an Irish temper. Not like her mom. Still, something close to a volcano blasted from her gut, heating her face and burning her brain. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Do you want me to throw him out?” Jorge shuffled beside the table laden with boxes. 

The charmer swung around and chuckled. “There’s no need for that. Sophia and I are old friends.”

She snorted. Eyed the two men. Thought about her options.  

Jorge was big. But old.

Stravoudas was bigger. And young.

The cookies needed to be delivered.

The glint in the con artist’s eyes told her he wasn’t going easily into the night.

Finally, her curiosity got the best of her. “Jorge. Get going. The kids are waiting.”

“You sure?” The old man swung his gaze from the smiling man to the frowning Sophie.

“I’m sure.”

With a grumble, he grabbed the dozen boxes, hefted them into his burly arms, and left.

The door thunked behind him. Silence followed. A strange sort of hushed silence one only felt right before a thunderstorm was about to roll across the city with ferocious glee.

“Well?” She shot the word at him, trying to jerk out of the growing anxiety suddenly swimming in her stomach.

He no longer smiled. In fact, the fake smile had fallen off his handsome face the moment Jorge turned away from him and left. “Weeeellll…”

His drawl mocked her. Flashed the wisp of anxiety right out of her, replacing it with…irritation. Typical. 

“Weeeelllll…” She mocked him back. “What do you want?”

“What do I want?” He lazed against the stone wall by the office. “An excellent question.”

“Stop playing—”

“You always get straight to the point, don’t you, Sophia?”

“Sophie.”

“Always succinct. Pithy.” He folded his arms in front of him. “A person could even say acerbic, bitter.”

The words hurt. Which was incredibly stupid. What did it matter what this man thought of her? “Is this why you came around? To insult me?”

“It always amazes me that such a bitter woman works with sugar all day long.”

Sophie stared at him. 

A month ago, when she gave him back the bling and told him in no uncertain terms that Mel was lost to him, she’d expected this kind of attack. Some anger or lashing out. But he’d smiled instead. A cold smile, true, yet a smile nevertheless. Then, he thanked her for the ring and graciously escorted her from his office. 

His perfect manners had made her want to hit him. 

Which wouldn’t have done any good. 

At six-foot-four, he would have flicked off her puny five-foot-two attack like a flea. So, instead, she used her words to hit at him. She’d been snide and snippy. Except the only thing he’d done was smile some more.

She was quite out of sorts by the time she left his office.

But at least she’d had the satisfaction of breaking apart the Perfect Couple for good.

Why this? Why now? Had he stewed on her words for a month and lost his perfect control? The thought made her smile. 

“Perhaps there’s some sugar in you, after all.”

Her temper flared at his condescension. “State whatever you have to say and leave.”

The gold ring on his pinky finger flashed in the overhead lights. The ring only highlighted the rough, rugged hand. The hand that whitened as he fisted it. “Okay, Sophia. I won’t pretty it up for you.”

“Good.” The whisper of anxiety floated into her stomach once more.

“I’ve decided since you’ve created the problems in my life, you should be the one to fix them.”

His arrogance flooded the room and swamped her anxiety, drowning it into silence. 

“Me?” Disdain dripped from her one word. 

“You.” His cold blue gaze never wavered from her face.

“I’m sorry if you have problems—”

“No, you’re not.” His chuckle rasped along her nerves. “You’re not sorry at all.”

“Okay, I’m not,” she admitted, lifting her hands in the air with a wave of dismissal. “Your problems mean nothing to me.”

“I have to disagree.” He moved from the wall, walking across to the tall ovens flanking one side of the room. His long, lean legs crossed the big room in only a few steps. Staring into one of the dark caverns, he appeared to be taking some kind of inventory.

Anxiety whispered back, winding around the anger bubbling inside. “Would you spit out—”

“I own this building.”

His words slammed her mouth shut.

He glanced at her, and this time, his eyes were alive and hot with pleasure. “I’m your landlord.”

“Why didn’t you ever mention this before?” She clung to her composure. What did it matter if he owned this place? She had a lease. A rock-solid lease. Plus, she was an excellent tenant.

“The information didn’t seem pertinent.” Broad male shoulders shrugged. “At the time.”

Ice settled in her gut. She didn’t know what was coming, but it was going to be bad. Her Irish sense of doom sagged onto her like a thick, stifling blanket, freezing the ice into a solid block of stone inside.

“Now, though…” He turned away from her again. The long, blond curls of his hair tightly tied in his usual ponytail, swished on the gray silk of his suit.

“Now what?” She just wanted it out. Whatever it was.

“So impatient. So demanding.” His words were a mere murmur, as if he spoke them only to himself. As if he didn’t mean them as a put-down. As if she couldn’t hear the contempt in his voice. “So unfeminine.”

“Leave.”

The chuckle came once more, filled with a harsh confidence. “I’ll remind you again, I’m your landlord.”

“That fact doesn’t give you the right to march in here and throw insults at me.”

“Insults? Am I insulting you, Sophia? For once, are my words penetrating that thick hide of yours?” He swiveled from his perusal of her ovens and spiked her with his heated eyes. Leaning his tall body on the steel frame, he managed to appear as if he owned the place.

Which he did. Damn it.

They stared at each other across the cool, brightly lit room. The silence reeked of threat. A threat she hadn’t been willing to acknowledge until now. Yet, it blazed from him; his negligent pose only emphasizing what was in his eyes.

“I’m going to take you in hand.” His soft words floated across the steel table to settle in her churning gut. “I’m going to teach you a lesson.”

His egotism blasted the fear out of her in one short second.

She laughed. It felt good to laugh at this man and his asinine arrogance. It felt good to crush her stupid fears with amusement.

Except then, she looked back at him.

And the fears came rumbling back.

She didn’t know why. He hadn’t moved. His eyes were only the usual cold blue she’d become used to whenever he glanced her way. His mouth might be a touch grimmer around the edges, but nothing she hadn’t seen before. But something about the way he watched her, the way he held himself, very still and silent—something told her she was in trouble. Something told her this man meant what he said.

Anyone knowing anything about Alexander Stravoudas knew his reputation.

Alexander the Great got whatever he wanted.

Even before he dated her best friend, she’d noted his rise in the business world. Prediction after shining prediction in the financial news came true—seemingly without him breaking a sweat. She had to admit she was a bit in awe of this man’s ability to build a worldwide architectural business worth billions in only a few short years.

He’d earned the label of the Perfect Man way before he became a part of the Perfect Couple.

Once she’d come into his orbit, she understood why. Time and time again, she observe him as he zeroed in on an investor, a politician, a potential colleague, and went in for the kill. Amazingly, none of these supposedly intelligent people ever spotted the calculation behind the charm.

Watching this charlatan hunt her best friend was even worse. 

As soon as he set his eyes on Melanie, he’d been clear in his intentions. Mel thought it was romantic. Soph thought it Machiavellian. She’d detected no heart in his choice—only expedience.

Alexander the Great needed a pretty, educated wife and a baby maker.

Melanie fit the bill. 

She, of course, saw this far before her friend. To finally achieve success at convincing Mel she was right about this man had been as sweet as any of her cookies. However, it appeared this complete success meant she’d placed herself right in the middle of his bull’s-eye. 

He stared at her, his hunter eyes intent. 

Ready to fire straight at her.

For a moment, she trembled. But then, her quick mind rushed to the rescue and she breathed in a cool sweep of air. True, Alexander Stravoudas seemed to have some kind of preternatural ability to charm everyone, win every time, exert his will on all. 

Yet, he’d never been able to win over Sophia Feuer before.

Why should this time be any different?

“A lesson?” She forced herself to chuckle. “I don’t think you know anything I want to learn.”

How could cold blue turn to hot fire in one flash of a second? She had the sense he wanted to jump across the steel table separating them and grab her. He didn’t move a muscle, though. Only those eyes of his blasted her with his fury.

The Perfect Man was clearly in a perfect rage.

At her.

Sophie couldn’t understand why. Okay, she’d busted his engagement, but the man swam in a sea of willing women. All right, she hadn’t fallen for his charm like every other person, except so what? It wasn’t as if he needed everyone to love him. Fine, she’d been a bit over-the-top when she gave him back the bling. A man like this, though, with enough pride and arrogance for the entire city of New York, would surely have shrugged it off. 

Surely.

Not.

Because why else would he be here? Glaring at her. Throwing insults. Implying threats.

A shiver ran through her and he must have sensed it because he smiled. The smile he only seemed to give her. The smile that never reached his eyes and made her blood freeze. “I’ve decided—”

“You’ve decided.” She managed a snort of disgust.

“Yes, I have.” The words were silky steel. “I’ve decided you are going to be my new fiancée.”

The words boomed in her head, entering her brain to buzz like a swarm of locusts. She stared at him with not one thought clear enough to verbalize.

“Hmm.” He kept his pose, kept his gaze on her. “I can’t remember a time I’ve been able to shock you into silence.”

That was quite a ridiculous statement. Yes, she’d been labeled a chatterbox a time or two, and true, she’d asked him a lot of questions when they first met. After a while, though, she spent most of her time when in his company observing him, analyzing, figuring out what was all wrong about him. He’d also appeared to be much more comfortable when her mouth was shut than when it was open. 

Consequently, she’d obliged him. Until their last meeting. 

The buzz in her head settled into a low burr. Finally, some words popped in her mind. “Are you crazy?”

It was his turn to chuckle. “No.”

“We—” 

“Detest each other?”

“Yes.”

His eyes were alive now with an odd kind of delight. Which made no sense. This scene was as un-delightful as a person could imagine. The whole situation bordered on the surreal. Sophie wondered if she’d fallen down a strange sort of black hole to arrive in another world. A world where a man proposed to a woman he detested and appeared as delighted about it as a man in love.

What the hell?

“What the hell?”

He smiled at her barked words. “There’s no need to swear.”

What a condescending jerk. His tone made her want to grab her biggest spoon and whack him on the head. “I can swear as much as I want and whenever I want.”

“Don’t be childish.” Did he tut? Did he actually tut at her?

“I’m done with this conversation.” Wrenching around, she headed for her office. “You can let yourself out.” 

“I have found a missing clause in your lease.”

 

 

He had the perfect wife.

Aetos Zenos smiled into the mirror as he straightened his tie. Today was going to be one of the best days of his life and he had his wife to thank for this success. Without her presence in his life, old man Tucker would never have agreed to the deal he proposed. A deal worth millions.

Nai. His wife deserved a hell of a lot of credit.

He turned around to his walk-in closet and chose the steel-blue Armani jacket that matched his pants. Slipping it on, he adjusted the sleeves and the gold, eagle-encrusted cufflinks. He smiled at his image once more, a sly twinkle in his eye.

Not only had his perfect wife secured this contract for him, she also had many other sterling qualities to admire. She never nagged. She never quarreled.

She was never disappointed in him, demanding of him.

She didn’t require his time or emotions or attention.

She never spent a penny of his vast fortune.

What more could a man want in a woman?

There was the issue of sex. In this one area, she fell short. Not that he cared. He’d found other avenues to take care of that particular need. He didn’t blame his wife for not providing him satisfaction. He knew going into the marriage sex wasn’t in the cards. She wasn’t capable of it. And really, what was the saying? 

Variety was the spice of life.

He chuckled. Looking at his left hand, he eyed the plain gold band on his ring finger. He hadn’t taken it off since he put it on two years ago. The ring had saved him countless hassles. When confronted by a determined woman, all he did was wave the thing in her face and tell her no. He liked variety, true, but he was the one to choose and chase. When he did indicate interest, each woman he picked invariably came to his bed.

The ring was never mentioned. Neither was marriage or commitment.

A wife was very useful to have in many situations.

Glancing at his watch, he walked out of his bedroom, across the Persian rugs blanketing the long hall, and down the wide stairs to the foyer of his elegant, Upper East Side brownstone. He’d purchased the property right before his marriage. No longer had he wanted to project the image of a man-about-town. The image was fine and well when he first started building his business seventeen years ago. It garnered him attention, brought him connections, solidified his presence as a mover and shaker. The image the world saw had served his purpose as he rose in stature.

But two years ago? 

Well, let’s just say Tucker was only one catalyst for his marriage. The existence of a wife had been important to show he was a solid, established citizen. However, the marriage provided him more than a business deal.

The marriage had provided him cover.

Slipping on his black leather jacket while opening the front door, he nodded to his chauffeur. “Let’s go.”

He spent the ride into Manhattan fielding several calls from his PA. Scrolling through a dozen text messages and emails from his bond traders in London and Singapore, he jotted down a couple of notes on new acquisitions. Not until he was mere minutes from his meeting with the old man did he have a chance to open his laptop and review his final proposal. The review truly wasn’t needed. The proposal had played in his head for years.

He knew what he needed to do. He always did.

The limo door opened and Aetos stepped out into a biting November wind. Looking at the imposing stone building he was about to acquire, he smiled one more time. Who would have dreamed a young kid from Athens would ever accomplish so much and come so far? Who could have imagined that one Aetos Zenos—a nobody, a nothing—with not a penny to his name when he landed on America’s shores, would soon own one of the best properties in New York City? Who would have predicted the rejected heir of one of Greece’s most prominent families would now be the proud owner of more businesses, land, and power than the Zenos clan had accumulated over hundreds of years?

Certainly not his father. Certainly none of the aristocratic Zenos family.

They’d been wrong. All wrong.

He’d dreamed of this at the tender age of nine when he was discarded. He’d imagined this when he left his father’s home at the age of fifteen. This need for success had been branded into him with every sneer and every putdown.

Now, here he was. Making his dreams and imaginings all come true.

Nodding to the doorman, he walked through the open door into his future.

The future his wife had helped him obtain.

His perfect, pretend wife.

* * *

Natalie Globenko sat in the darkest corner of the bar. She’d chosen the place specifically because it was in the Upper East Side, far from her own Brooklyn neighborhood, as far as one could get without falling off Manhattan Island. The place was as shadowy and nondescript as a person could hope. The dusky oak paneling and dark-red paint created a sense of safety. A cave cocooning her in its dark embrace.

Of course, this was an illusion.

Danger lurked and waited.

She held her cup with shaking hands. The warmth of the coffee had long ago dissipated and the waitress hadn’t come back with a refill. But this was the least of her worries.

She was in deep trouble.

How could Nathan have done such a thing? How had she not realized her brother was neck-deep in a scam that would eventually lead to his death? Eventually leave her holding the bag?

The familiar tightness in her throat welled. At least the tears no longer came. During the past three months, she’d cried every single tear inside her. They hadn’t done any good. The tears hadn’t brought her kid brother back from the grave. And they hadn’t miraculously solved all her problems, either. Especially her one gigantic problem.

Fifty thousand dollars.

How was she going to find fifty thousand dollars?

The front door of the bar flew open, bringing a strong gust of cold wind and two men into the room. Natalie shrank back into her seat. As she eyed them, though, she relaxed. The wintery sun shone behind them making it hard to see any details, yet she knew. She knew the hulking outlines of those who pursued her. These men weren’t looking for her. They weren’t the men she feared.

One of the men, the taller one, laughed as he patted the other’s shoulder. “We did it, Hank.”

“You did it.” The balding man looked around before indicating the empty booth next to hers. “Come on. I’ll buy the first round.”

Her gaze moved over the men with disinterest. Since she now realized they weren’t a threat, she had no use for them. She had no use for men in general, but the situation she found herself in had banished everything from her concentration other than survival.

The tall man smiled as he slipped into the booth. The dim light caught the gold of his hair, the flash of straight white teeth. “I’ll take you up on the offer.”

She watched with grim amusement as the waitress made a beeline for the men. There were only two other patrons seated at the long wooden bar and they were being served by the bartender. The waitress couldn’t be bothered with refilling her coffee, but she showed a lively interest in the new customers. Within a few seconds, with much cooing and batting of eyelashes, the men had their beers and shots. Natalie watched as the woman reluctantly took her leave.

“Cheers.”

“Yiamas.”

“The Greek consistently comes out in you when you’ve achieved another goal.”

“I am American.” The deep voice took on an edge.

“Yes, I know.” Nervousness tinged the response.

“Never forget that, my friend.”

The sudden tension eased between the men as they continued to talk. She absently listened as they heartily congratulated themselves about some business deal. Her mind swirled around her problem and her stomach churned. She needed a hideout. Somewhere they couldn’t find her for a few weeks. This might give her enough time to put in place a plan to get the money they demanded. The money Nathan owed them when he died.

The money they thought she had.

Her brother had told the mob about the sale of their mother’s home after she died. Let the gang’s boss believe there was inherited money. Nathan intimated that his older sister held the keys to the treasure and when Natalie received the first threatening phone call, she realized exactly where her younger brother had left her.

In a hellhole she couldn’t get out of.

There’d been little left after burying her mother. Certainly not fifty thousand dollars.

How could she have not seen the signs her brother had fallen into the same trouble her father and uncles fell into years ago? What was it about the Globenko men and their avid need for money and power? Even more, how could Nathan have compounded this travesty by taking one step farther down the rathole by embezzling? She’d thought the family troubles were in the distant past. Put to rest along with her father’s and uncles’ bodies.

Her brother’s body now lay beside them. And if she didn’t find the cash soon, her own body might well be the next one in the ground.

A shiver of fear ran down her spine.

“To Aetos Zenos and his growing empire.”

The name caught her attention. In her previous life, before hell had broken loose three months ago, she spent her days copy-editing the pages of the New York News. Aetos Zenos was a name she’d seen many times. A business dynamo. A ladies’ man.

The kind of man she despised.

“I have to tell you, I didn’t think you’d ever get old man Tucker to sign the contract.”

“My patience is infinite when the goal is worth achieving.”

“What’s it been? Two years since you first approached him?”

“Almost three, actually.”

“At first he wouldn’t even give you the time of day.”

Zenos chuckled. “He told me to my face I wasn’t the kind of man he’d do business with.”

She could sympathize with old man Tucker’s point of view. Watching her dad and his brothers destroy their lives trying to play the money game taught her well. Money corrupted. Money turned men into cheaters and con-men. Money destroyed families. She’d assumed Nathan had learned the same hard lesson.

She’d been wrong.

“So you went about changing his perceptions.”

“It took several years, but I succeeded.”

“Your marriage to Natalie was a brilliant stroke.”

Poor woman. She had a bit more sympathy than usual, if only because they shared the same name. Who would want to marry such a man? A man consumed with getting ahead. A man who surely cheated to climb the ladder of success so quickly. He was what? She frowned. If she remembered correctly, he couldn’t be much over thirty-five years of age. To rise so fast, he had to have cut corners, lied, deceived. Hell, look at her own father. He hadn’t succeeded until he swindled and stole, and he hadn’t started young. 

Poor Natalie Zenos. Married to such a man would destroy her sooner or later.

Exactly as it had destroyed Elina Globenko, her own mother.

“The best thing I ever did was take the trip to Las Vegas. My marriage let Tucker know I was a settled man. A man he could now do business with.”

She’d read about this, too, as she thought back. The surprise marriage in Las Vegas. The reclusive bride who never wanted her picture taken. The newly purchased estate in the Connecticut countryside, complete with a pool and tennis courts, where the wife lived. While the husband spent most of his time in New York City.

Right. Definitely. The man cheated. In more than one way. She’d lay money on it. 

If she had any.

“I was honored to be your best man.”

Both men roared with laughter.

What was the joke? She’d missed something. Natalie cocked her head in confusion while the men kept laughing.

“You’re the man who gave me the idea, Hank. It was only right you were there when I went ahead.”

“Someone had to be there. You couldn’t be alone when you got married. Plus, Jill was happy to stand in for the blushing bride.”

The men chortled. The waitress sashayed over to them and they ordered another round. 

Who was Jill? And what did they mean by standing in?

Nat shook herself. What did it matter? She had far bigger problems than trying to figure out what happened at a Las Vegas marriage two years ago. Sipping the last dregs of her coffee, she pulled her mind back to her other problem. Another very big problem. 

Where was she going to stay tonight? 

She’d stored her few remaining possessions in a locker at Grand Central Station since she had to check out of the grimy hotel she was staying in. She had precisely fifty bucks left to her name. She couldn’t use her credit cards and chance them tracing her location. She no longer owned a cell to call any friends; she ditched the phone as soon as she suspected they were using it to find her. Any contact with her remaining relatives was problematic. Years had gone by since she saw her aunts and cousins, plus she couldn’t risk the thugs going after them, too, for the family debt. 

“I have to recommend marriage to you, Hank.”

“Not a chance.”

“You only have to find the perfect wife like I did.”

The other man snorted.

“Really,” Zenos continued. “There are many perks. For example, family members lay off you completely. A wife provides an excellent cover for any demands to marry a nice Greek girl from home.”

“Your grandparents were rather persistent, weren’t they?”

“Nai.”

She found it hard to envision this man having relatives. He’d seemed to have come out of nowhere onto the New York City scene. One day no one knew he existed. The next day, he was buying every building he could find, his picture was plastered on every gossip page, and his name opened every door.

“You can’t imagine the amount of time I still spend on calls from Greece.”

“At least they won’t arrive on your doorstep.”

“That would be inconvenient.”

The men chuckled again. 

Weren’t we the cheerful crowd. 

She grimaced at her cynicism. Usually, she was cheerful herself. It was only because she was in a situation that was no laughing matter. Hearing others chortle only made it seem worse. 

“But the chances of any visits are remote, aren’t they? Your grandparents are what—?” Hank’s voice echoed in the nearly empty bar. “In their seventies?”

“Eighties.”

“I suppose one of your thousands of cousins could stop by.”

“Unlikely.” The accented voice turned sarcastic. “None of them wish to leave the blessed homeland.”

“Which works in your favor.”

“Correct. I would hate to disappoint and shock my family.”

Was his wife truly disappointing in some way? Nat struggled to remember. There’d been some photos. A few fuzzy ones. There hadn’t appeared to be anything wrong with the woman. 

She couldn’t be ugly. 

No man like Zenos would marry an ugly woman. 

As soon as her father achieved even a minor level of success, he’d found plenty of pretty women. She never told her mother what she’d seen; it would have destroyed Elina. The knowledge of her husband’s illegal business activities was enough to send her into decline. His infidelity would have sent her mother to her grave immediately. Instead, she lingered for years with her memories and her dreams somewhat intact.

Why was she thinking about Aetos Zenos and his wife when she would shortly be sleeping on the streets somewhere, easy pickings for her trackers?

She straightened against the hard wood of the booth. The red leather padding on the seat provided some cushioning, but after two hours of sitting on it, her butt ached. Yet, it was far better than walking out the bar’s door into the danger. Soon though, when the after-work crowd started strolling in, she’d be required to buy something more than coffee to keep her seat.

Fifty bucks. The only money she owned.

Fifty thousand dollars. The money she needed to find.

“Your family and old man Tucker would certainly be shocked to find your wife nowhere to be seen.”

Perhaps his wife had gotten a clue and left him. Nat relished the thought for a moment. Only a moment. Her brain then went back to her reality—a reality where she needed to find a way to make her puny funds grow by a thousand percent.

“A wife who is unseen and unheard is a treasure,” Zenos said, mirth dripping off every word. “You should try it.”

With unwilling interest, she yanked her attention back to the men’s conversation. What a jerk. No man would be chuckling and laughing into his beer if his wife had left him. Apparently, the woman was a doormat. She couldn’t imagine being with such a conceited man. A man who genuinely liked the fact his wife was a doormat.

A man exactly like her father.

Maybe she was a fool to ever hope for another kind of man. In her experience, all men were like this Zenos guy. Arrogant jerks. She was stupid to keep hanging onto her fantasies.

Why was she thinking of fantasies when she was in the middle of a nightmare?

“There is the lack of sex with such a wife, Aetos. You must admit that.”

Both men gave another hearty laugh.

She couldn’t help her odd fascination with this unfolding conversation. Even in the face of her near-disaster of a life. What could this mean? She couldn’t conceive of this guy not having sex. The man had run through a long list of beauties. Miss Universes competed with runway models and starlets for his company. 

She remembered all the stories. Vaguely. But she remembered.

However, then…she frowned…yes, she was sure of it. After his marriage, there’d been no more movie stars or beauty queens. At the time, she hadn’t spent one moment thinking about the change. She had enough to cope with; A mother slowly fading away and a brother slowly withdrawing. Now that she thought about it, though, she remembered there had no longer been the frenzied press about Zenos and his private life, only the dull roar of endless coverage about his business success.

Had the man honestly been celibate?

“I’ve had no problem in that area, as you know.” Zenos’ voice oozed satisfaction. “I have been more secretive, to honor my wife. Still, there are always women.”

“I have no doubt.”

“And my wife has provided me with the ultimate excuse when women become too possessive. I am already married. They have no hope.”

Obviously he hadn’t been celibate. What was she thinking?

Honor his wife. What crap.

Her spine stiffened in revulsion, but not surprise. After all, look at her father. Her fantasy of a steadfast man, a man who could be trusted was just that. Pure and complete fantasy.

Focus on your disaster.

Right. The disaster of being homeless and on the run from the Ukrainian mob.

“You know,” the egotistical jerk continued, “I planned on announcing a divorce as soon as the papers were signed with Tucker. Now I’m not sure.”

He had stayed married only to secure a business deal? She made a face at the other side of her booth, imagining the disgusted look slicing through the wood and right into the man’s back. How unbelievably cynical. The poor woman. Stuck in Connecticut, alone, waiting, while this ass pranced around New York, bedding whoever and making deals using his wife as a shield.

At least she’s safe. At least she has money.

Her heart fell. True. Very true. Natalie Zenos might have a husband worth less than nothing, yet at least she had a home. An extremely nice home, if memory served. Natalie Globenko was not as lucky.

“You’re thinking of keeping the ring on?”

What an odd way to ask the question. This conversation was incredibly bizarre.

“Nai.”

“I suppose if you divorce, your family will be on you again to come home and marry one of the endless Greek beauties waiting for you.”

“True. But the demands to come home with my non-existent wife keep escalating.”

What? What? Non-existent?

Nat sucked in a breath, sure she’d heard this wrong.

“Those demands do pose a problem.” Hank chuckled. “I suppose you could hire someone to play the part.”

Play the part?

“I wouldn’t trust a woman not to divulge the truth to the press.” The accent thickened, his voice reeking with brutal antipathy.

She froze as the soft, harsh words drifted over her. There was hatred there. Unadulterated hate. The man might bed women, yet he hated them.

Hank’s laugh was forced. “They’re not all bad. Look at my sister, Jill. In two years, she’s never whispered a thing to anyone.”

Jill was Hank’s sister? Her brain unfroze enough to take in the strange words she’d heard before the harsh putdown of all women. 

Non-existent. Play the part.

Jill in the wedding pictures? Not Natalie?

“The fact she received a new home and you still have a job with me might explain her silence.” Rich contempt sliced through every word.

The man held an extreme antipathy for women. She didn’t begrudge him the feeling. In the end, it matched her thoughts about men. Nevertheless, to treat his friend with this kind of condescension was despicable. Apparently, he despised everyone around him to a varying degree. Did he think he was so superb compared to other humans that he could treat a person with such contempt? Her sour distaste and disgust turned into outright antagonism.

Hank gave a nervous laugh.

“But I will always be thankful to your sister for standing in for my bride.” Zenos’ voice switched to calm containment. “The pictures of us at the altar were needed to satisfy the press and my grandmother.”

“Jill was thrilled to make the tabloids. Even if only her back was shown.”

Both men chuckled once more.

Scrunching her face, Nat tried to remember. A vague memory of a candlelit room, a fuzzy, well-covered bride with a long veil. A smiling groom. That had been Hank’s sister at the altar? Not the real Natalie?

The non-existent Natalie.

The pieces came together to paint a completely insane picture. It couldn’t possibly be—

“My grandmother, however, is not satisfied with some pictures. She demands to meet my blushing bride.” The pompous ass sighed, a mocking sound. “I believe I will have to leave married bliss behind, since I am unable to comply with my giagiá’s request.”

“The Greek girls will be delighted.”

“And I will be too devastated by the loss of my wife to contemplate loving another woman anytime soon.”  

Hank sniggered.

“The only thing that will console me is my wife will want none of my wealth or possessions.”

“What would a pretend wife need with wealth and possessions?”

Both men roared with laughter.

She sat. Stunned. The picture was insane and completely accurate.

There was no wife. No Natalie Zenos.

This conceited crook had fooled a man into a business deal using a pretend wife. He’d lied to his family for two years. Hell, he’d lied to the entire world to get ahead.

A blunt-fingered hand waved to the waitress. She glided across the room with the bill.

“I will leave the business in your capable hands, Hank, for the next two weeks.”

“You’ll be visiting every one of the Tuckermarkets?”

Tuckermarket. Her brain whirred. Old man Tucker. Sam Tucker’s trading empire was vast and impressive. She’d often strolled through the gargantuan store occupying the last privately-owned Vanderbilt mansion in New York City. The store was stuffed with exotic oriental scarves, golden images of gods, and spices from the Maluku Islands. Once, she’d even been greeted by Sam Tucker himself. The beaming man had taken her hand and shown her around the store, glowing with pleasure when she found the best gift for her mother’s birthday.

The old man had been a delight.

The old man whom Zenos had fooled.

A tight rage filled her, weaving and winding around her growing antagonism towards this overconfident thief. The rage flushed her skin. This bandit had fooled a lovely old man and his own old, needy grandparents. Along with his entire family. As well as all of New York City. 

All for a deal. For money. For power.

“Only the main markets. I will take a more extensive tour later, after the holidays.” The pompous man stood, flipping a large bill at the waitress, who beamed in apparent surprise.

Nat glared at his outline. In the dim light, the only thing she could make out were his broad shoulders covered in some kind of sleek suit and his rugged profile with its prominent nose. Yet,  the glimpse was enough to give her a sense of his complete arrogance. His absolute assurance. He truly believed lying to an old man, to his family, to everyone was his right. He felt not a slip of guilt in what he’d done.

Zenos was worse than her father and her uncles and her brother. 

His friend slid out of the booth to join him. “Do you want me to check on the house?”

The house. The brownstone. The memory of the purchase came back to her. The press had been agog at playboy Zenos purchasing such a sedate property while selling his trendy Greenwich Village penthouse. Soon after, the announcement of the engagement had come. Then, the press release of the marriage. 

She knew exactly where that brownstone was. She’d strolled by it during a lunchtime walk. The townhouse stood mere blocks from where she currently sat.

“Not needed.” The playboy jerk strode toward the door, Hank lumbering behind. “I have given the main staff a holiday, but a skeleton staff will remain.”

The door banged shut on his last words.

The glare slipped off her face.

But her turbulent disgust continued. Someone should take the man down a notch. Someone should teach him a lesson. A person of courage should confront him and expose him.

Someone who had a journalism degree and could write an explosive story.

Someone like her.

Her hands clutched the coffee cup until her knuckles turned white. Could this be her way out of imminent disaster? She no longer had any access to a computer, still, she could hightail it down to her old offices and tell the tale and make a deal.

She’d be seen. She’d be caught.

Her breath whispered in and out of her mouth. A zillion thoughts and plans and schemes whistled in her brain.

Would anyone believe her?

She left her work without giving notice. Her boss had been angry. He told her she’d lost her last chance at the paper as she hastily packed her things and escaped before the trackers got her. Would he believe her when she told this outrageous story?

Would anyone believe her?

Zenos had power. And prestige. And pots of money.

Would anyone believe insignificant, on-the-run Natalie Globenko instead of the masterful, godlike Aetos Zenos?

No.

She slumped in the corner of the booth, her hopes sagging.

Even if she got someone to believe, The New York News wouldn’t pay the astronomical sum of fifty thousand dollars. The odds that any other tabloid would believe and pay with no proof other than her word was unlikely. She’d risk capture with no assurance she’d have enough money to pay off the debt. 

The risk was too great.

“Do you want anything else, miss?” The waitress walked to her table and smacked the bill in front of her without letting her respond. “We’ll be getting busy soon and this booth will be needed.”

“I understand.” The slick slap of panic slid down her spine. “I’ll be only a minute more.”

The waitress grunted her disapproval as she left.

What was she going to do? Where was she going to go?

The idea flashed in her head like a neon light. A bright blast of pure folly.

Gone for two weeks. Skeleton staff.

Pretend wife.

Natalie Zenos. Natalie Globenko.

A way to pay an arrogant man back. A way to make him sweat. If only for a few days after he came back from his trip and heard his pretend wife had made an appearance before disappearing.

A hideout. Two weeks to buy some time to think and plan.

Her husky bark of laughter caused the bartender to eye her as if she’d gone crazy.

She had. Quite possibly she had.

But why not? What did she have to lose?

 

Revenge was not sweet.

The fire burned in his mouth and gut like acid. It seared his throat and lungs.

Long ago, the need for revenge had charred his heart.

Raphael Vounó stood in front of the business that harbored his foes. The business he now owned, as well as the crumbling building it was housed in. London’s icy rain slanted against the skin of his cheek and jaw. The chill did nothing to lessen the burn inside.

Time to settle the score. Finally.

He pushed open the hotel’s battered steel door and strode in. The foyer was empty, but the low sound of a radio slid through the entryway behind the lobby desk. He didn’t glance around. He knew exactly where everything was in this cramped excuse of a building. His investigation had been thorough. 

Nothing was left to chance. Not this time.

Striding past the front counter, he didn’t hesitate. His hand slapped open the office door.

There he was. The first of his two enemies.

The man had aged during the last ten years. Yet, he still lived, unlike Raphael’s father. Loukas Vounó as not as lucky as this old man.

Whose luck had just run out.

The old man lifted his head from the papers strewn across his desk. His gaze was blurry and tired. His skin drooped in grey flaps along his jaw. The years had not been kind, and today this enemy would find out his remaining years would be even worse. 

Who are you?” he muttered.

Leaning against the doorway, he gave the older man a mocking smile. “You don't recognize me, Drakos?”

The hazy eyes slowly cleared. The man straightened. 

Then, the curses flowed.

Raphael ignored them all. There was nothing this man could do or say that would hurt him. Not any longer. He'd spent the last ten years planning and plotting for this moment. Unlike his father, he took nothing for chance, trusted no one. He'd purposefully built a wall of protection around himself, his family, and his business. 

No one, certainly not Haimon Drakos, could ever touch him or his again.

“You’re not welcome here.” The old man glared at him. “Get out.”

He laughed and prowled toward the desk. “No.”

“I will call the police and have you thrown out.” Drakos's words were edged with forced bravado as he uneasily reached for the ancient phone.

“The police are now your friends?”

The seated man gripped the phone in his shaking hand. “They will come and enforce my property rights. I own this place and I demand you leave.”

“Demand?” Raphael slid his leg onto the wobbly wooden desk. Crossing his arms, he smiled. “You will no longer be making demands. Not here. Not anywhere.”

“What do you mean?” Drakos’ voice quivered.

Bending forward to stare into the man's eyes, he delivered the first blow. “I own Viper Enterprises.”

The old eyes widened in horror. “No!”

“What’s going on?” The voice came from the open doorway. The familiar lilt, the unique slur at the end of the words, the husky edge to the vowels…all unmistakably her.

Enemy number two.

Rafe forced a deep breath into his lungs. Finding his formidable control, he turned to confront the girl who’d cut out his naїve heart with her betrayal. “Tamsin.”

She was no longer a girl.

Her bright-blond hair had turned golden, impossibly more beautiful than before. Her green eyes no longer flashed with innocent joy; instead they had darkened into mist and mystery. Her body, the body he’d hugged in his arms when she laughed and clutched to his chest when she cried, the body no longer was a young girl’s.

His reaction to her was the same.

His skin heated, his muscles tightened, and his groin stirred. Precisely as it did in the past, in that long-ago summer when he thought he’d found his soul mate. Thought he’d found his love. Over the years, when he allowed a thought of her to cross his mind, he’d shrugged off his reaction to her as youthful folly. He labeled it for what it must have been—merely a young man’s hormones. In the last ten years, he slept with women when he needed them. None of them elicited more than a night’s interest.

None of them made him sweat.

He twitched his shoulders and felt the trickle slide down his spine. The bitterness inside him churned into anger at himself. Lusting after an enemy wasn’t part of the agenda.

“Raphael?” Her eyes went wide, her arms wrapping around her in useless defense.

Dóxa to̱ Theó. His enemy didn’t sense the lust running through him. The element of surprise, the element he’d planned so carefully for this situation, saved him from revealing anything she could use against him.

“Nai.” Yes. Oh, yes. Tamsin. Did you think I would forget? Forgive? He stood with a jerk, ignoring the old man’s snarl behind him. “It’s me.”

“I can’t—”

“I’m here.” He stared right into her eyes so she would know. Know what was in store for her. “Did you think I would forget you and your family, kardiá mou?”

She flinched. 

An exultant flare of acid triumph whipped through him. She remembered. She remembered what he’d called her. Which meant she remembered everything. The loving nickname. Her betrayal. His anger at the very end.

My heart.

What a foolish, stupid boy he’d been to give her those words. To give her any power over him at all. Now, though, she would know everything was different.

Her hands dropped to her sides and her jaw tightened. A familiar glint of defiance flashed in her green gaze. “What are you doing here?”

She’d given him this same bold scowl when they met for the first time. Sure, he’d been a cocky twenty-one-year-old, full of himself, surly about having to spend time with his younger sisters and a girl too young to be of any interest. All because his father had business with Drakos and wanted the families to know each other. He slouched into the unfamiliar house, knowing he’d be bored out of his mind. 

And then, it had happened.

He’d gazed into these green eyes and fallen.

Completely and utterly fallen.

Did she think she merely needed to give him a defiant look and he’d be a fool once more?

“I’m here,” he forced himself to stroll to her and stare into those dangerous eyes, “because I now own this place.”

His claim slammed into her. He could see it in the taut, tense thrust of her jaw. See it in the way her head went back, as if slapped. He tried to focus on these telling details which told of his victory, but…

But the effort was futile.

These eyes. Theós. 

He’d truly forgotten. Her eyes always reminded him of the laurel leaves his mother used in her cooking, the green glistening pure and clear in the heated water. There was no hint of blue or brown to lessen the impact of flawless color. In his fanciful youth, he’d dreamed her gaze shone with a perfect love, with a belief in his ability to make all his dreams, and hers, come true. He’d fallen asleep in his lonely bed knowing someday these green eyes would look at him as he slept, watch over him and caress him and bless him with the crown of her love.

What a complete and utter fool he’d been.

The fringe of her blond eyelashes whisked across her fair skin as she blinked. When she opened her eyes once more, they no longer reminded him of his lovesick days. They reminded him of the last time he’d stared at her. Then, the green was dark and dirty, dulling into dismissal.

Exactly as they did now.

“We own this building.” Her mouth twisted, turning the lushness of her lips into a rejecting curl. “We have for years.”

The old man rustled some papers behind him. The noise shot through Raphael like a poisoned arrow. As soon as this woman had entered the room, he forgot. 

He forgot the old man. 

His plans. His revenge. 

He forgot everything but her.

Damn her.

Turning around, he glared at the old man. “Tell her, Drakos.”

The skin under the man’s eyes looked like splotches of tar compared to the pale sickliness of the rest of his face. The scent of fear mixed with alcohol wafted off his fat body as he slouched down into the creaking hull of the plastic chair, still cradling the phone. The last puff of smoke rose from the chewed cigar lying in the ashtray among the waste of paper.

Theós. The realization struck Rafe. He’d arrived just in time.

How cruel would fate have been if he left his revenge too late, moved too slow, let this man escape into death before being punished? He could not have lived with himself if he hadn't fulfilled the pledge he made over his father’s dead body. He could not have looked at himself in the mirror if this final revenge was not delivered.

Yet, luck and fate were with him all through these past ten years.

The man before him still lived and would still suffer.

“Tell her,” he demanded once more.

Rafe felt her behind him. She didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. Yet, he felt her. Like a burn in his blood, like a venomous snake sliding on his skin. He sensed her zigzagging thoughts. He tasted her growing unease. He knew what was inside of her. Just as he’d known the moment he first saw her.

The fact this connection still existed between them stunned him. He’d thought his reaction to her would be entirely one of bitter anger and harsh judgment.

He didn’t like this trace of lust in his blood.

He didn’t like this connection, this feeling of her.

However, he couldn’t deny both were there inside.

Haimon Drakos glanced at his stepdaughter. His eyes said everything his mouth would not say. 

Defeated. Dead. Two black holes of despair.

“What have you done?” Her whisper, soft and stark, sifted through the hushed silence.

The scent of her sudden fear wrapped around Rafe and he reveled in feeling. His impulse was to turn. Turn to see the fear in the green, green of her gaze. But he didn’t want to stare into those dangerous eyes and chance losing his focus. Right now, he wanted to stare at this man before him who had tricked and scorned his father.

He glared at the old man who’d caused his father’s death.

“Tell her.”

* * *

Raphael.

Here.

Close enough to touch.

The reality was so intolerably unreal, Tamsin could barely breathe. She’d dreamed so many dreams of this moment. Dreams of ecstatic cries of love. Dreams of walking into his strong arms and crying out the years of pain and misery. Dreams that followed her from her bed every morning and swirled around in her head throughout the day.

Raphael.

He was so him and yet, so very different.

He no longer had the lanky posture of youth. Years ago, he seemed more legs and arms, and always walked and moved as if he still were learning how to handle the growth spurt into six-feet-plus of male. Now his shoulders were no longer bony and lean. They were heavy with muscle. His body moved with fluid masculine grace, confident in its supremacy, filling the tiny, dingy room with its power.

Raphael.

She stared at his broad back, turned against her. Then, her gaze took in the way he held his head. The proud tilt told her he no longer had any of the shy charm she’d found so irresistible when she was sixteen. His hair had been longer too, a mass of ebony curls. Curls that clung to her fingers as they lay together in the sunlit vineyards of her stepfather’s Greek estate. Curls that gave him a boyish beauty she fell for within seconds of meeting him. Now those curls were ruthlessly suppressed, the cut emphasizing the symmetry of his ears, the elegance of his jaw line.

Rafe.

“Tell her.”

His voice was different too. No longer warm and fun and full of laughter. Of love. Now his voice slashed into her like a cold slice of steel. His voice hacked through all her old memories and yearnings and brought her back to the reality of what stood before her.

A threat.

She had no doubt of this. None. She’d heard the voices and known immediately something was terribly wrong. Haimon rarely had anyone visit him anymore. He did all his dirty business by phone and she ignored what was going on because she couldn’t do anything about it. As long as he left everything else alone, she was content to let him play his games from his seedy, shabby office.

“Don’t involve the boys,” she’d warned him.

“Of course not,” he’d assured her, puffing on his ever-present cigar.

She’d chosen to believe him because she had no other choice.

Yet, when she heard the voices today, she knew with gut certainty this wasn’t one of Haimon’s customers surprising him in his office. This was worse. This was far worse. But not even her usually keen instincts prepared her for what she saw as she walked into disaster.

Her past walking into her present.

No longer a ghost of regret and pain. No longer a memory she’d hidden in her heart all these years as she lived with her choice and her sacrifice. No, her ghost of past love now stood before her. And as soon as she saw his expression, she knew.

He was a threat. 

To Haimon, surely. Maybe with some justification. But not only to him.

To her home. To her.

To the boys.

“What have you done?” She managed to push out the words through the horror leaching into her belly. 

Her stepfather had promised her, promised he wouldn’t touch what she’d created here. He’d assured her this place she hobbled together to make a home for the boys would stay safe. Stay apart from his dirty games.

Raphael Vounó suddenly threw his head back and laughed.

The sound jarred her. So different, so different and sad and horribly wrong compared to how he used to laugh. How many memories had she stored inside her soul, memories of the joy of his laughter as he swung her around in his arms? Memories that sustained her through her terrible decision and the ugly aftermath.

This laugh told her everything about him.

A lethal, deathly threat to everything she held dear.

With a swift jerk, he turned to face her one more time. The grief for all she’d lost and he’d lost swept through her again as she stared into his black, pitiless eyes. The eyes that once danced with a bright glow. As a girl, she was never able to describe in her journal the way his black eyes were not dark but light. Not deep but open. She couldn’t communicate in words how the very blackness of his gaze highlighted how brilliant the love shining from them was.

Yet now, like everything about him, the black had changed.

“He’s too much of a coward,” he snarled. “So I have the pleasure of informing you, kardiá mou.”

The nickname was too much. “Don’t call me that.”

The black gaze blazed, flared with unholy delight. “You don’t appreciate irony, Tamsin?”

She tried to wrestle her brain into working order, tried to find her way out of this nightmare, but it was no use. His presence and hate swallowed her whole. 

His terrible, treacherous threat. 

What could be worse than this? What could be worse than confronting her old dreams arising from the ashes of her past as a menace?

But she’d absorbed a hard, bitter lesson at sixteen. One she learned again and again over the years. There was no way to win when confronted with disaster. 

The only thing a person could do was survive.

“Tell me.”

“Your loving father…” His accented drawl elongated the words, edging them with icy contempt.

Haimon wasn’t her father. Once, when she was little, she’d hoped. Hoped he’d take the place of a father who abruptly disappeared from her life. Except her new stepfather wasn’t the paternal type and she’d quickly accepted she was nothing more than a piece of her mother’s baggage.

Raphael knew this.

He’d listened to her wistful dreams about her real father. He’d held her in his arms as she cried about some insult Haimon threw at her.

He knew. Too much.

“No more games.” Tam reminded herself of what she’d become. She ran this hotel. She managed the small staff. She paid the bills. Moreover, she’d successfully raised the twins for the last ten years. Two rambunctious, challenging, amazingly wonderful boys. She could handle anything.

She needed to for the boys.

“Games?” Raphael’s mouth turned grim. “I’m not playing a game.”

“Then stop beating about the bush. Say what you have to say and leave.”

His gaze sharpened. Was he surprised she challenged him? Didn’t he realize she was different too? She was not the loving, giving girl he knew years ago. Her sacrifice to protect everyone, including him, had changed her forever. 

“I’m not leaving,” he stated. “You and your father are.”

She didn’t waste her breath denying Haimon as a father. Because she only had breath enough to deny his demand, deny a reality too horrible to contemplate. “We aren’t going anywhere.”

“Nai, Tamsin, you are going. Out onto the street.” A confident smirk crossed his face. “I own this place, and I’m evicting you and your father.”

This building wasn’t merely a building. It didn’t only house the cheap hotel rooms and struggling businesses which paid for the little they had. This building was their home. The top floor was where she and the boys slept, played, dreamed. This building was the only thing they owned.

She peered past the horror standing before her and glared into Haimon’s sunken eyes. “You told me you owned this place free and clear.”

“I did.” The shrug of old shoulders tinged the words with defeat. “Once.”

“Not now?” She couldn’t help the wail. What would she do? What would she do with the twins?

“He took out a mortgage a year ago.” Raphael’s voice was quiet, yet intense. “Which I bought.”

“But…but…” None of the thoughts and emotions running through her brain made any sense. She couldn’t seem to nail any of them down and put them in some comprehensible order.

“He’s late with the payments.” The deadly tone marched on.

“Not that late,” Haimon blustered.

“The contract you signed, old man.” The younger man appeared completely at ease, his arms casually crossed, his long legs planted solidly on the floor. The floor he claimed he owned. “Didn’t you read the contract? Were you as foolish as my father was years ago?”

The sharp tang of sheer rage filled the words. But she detected something else in the flavor of his voice. A hint of permanent, unbearable grief. All these years, and he still mourned. And exactly like before, she couldn’t comfort him; she couldn’t walk into his arms and hold him. The stark thought brought unwilling, unwanted tears to her eyes.

Raphael glanced her way and smiled. “Tears won’t do you any good, kardiá mou. They will not sway me from throwing you out.”

“I’m not—” She stopped. 

This man was no longer her Raphael. He wouldn’t believe a word she said. She needed to understand right now—he was the enemy. Somehow she had to find a way around this man and his threats in order to protect the boys.

“In fact,” he continued, his smile tight and taut. “Tears will only make this more pleasurable for me. I want both of you to suffer.”

Just as my father did.

He didn’t have to say the words. They lay in his eyes. His dark black eyes.

She stared into those eyes and saw nothing of the boy she’d loved. Clearly, that boy died ten years ago when his father ended his life. Tamsin’s grief billowed inside. She thought she’d done the right thing that long ago night. She’d been sure in her young heart she was saving him. 

But saving him for what? 

Saving him only for him to lose any trace of humanity?

For a moment, something flashed in those black eyes. His big body flinched; his mouth tightened. And his eyes…for a moment, Tam thought she saw something.

Then, it was gone.

Rafe swung back to Haimon. “Since you didn’t read all the fine print, Drakos, I’ll enlighten you. One late payment and this place is mine. One.”

The old man sunk deeper in his chair.

“And you’ve missed three.”

“We live here.” Reality seeped into her skin like an oily claw of futility. “This is our home.”

“Not any longer.” He prowled to the door. “You were served with an eviction notice and today’s the last day you can live here.”

“I never saw any such notice.” Tam clung to a last strand of hope.

Her tormentor stared over at her stepfather. Her gaze followed his and what she saw on Haimon’s face cut any hope right out of her heart. “How could you keep this from me?”

“I have a deal in the works,” he mumbled. “I’ll have the money—”

“Too late.” Leaning on the doorframe, Rafael crossed his arms. “I don’t want your money, Drakos. I’ve got plenty of my own.”

“If you’ll give me some time—”

“I’ll give you nothing.”  His words were like steel-edged nails. “I want you both out. If not willingly, then I will be glad to call the bailiffs in.”

Fury and fear mixed inside her, making it hard to think. Only emotion shot through the mess in her mind. 

“The boys,” she blurted.

“Ah, yes.” He straightened, dropping his hands to his sides.

Her love for her brothers swelled, settling her emotions and letting her think. He remembered the boys. She saw the memories in his black gaze. The times he lifted them into the pool and played with them. The picnic they had with the twins one day. The fun he experienced, laughing and rolling with them in the fragrant grass by the river. If she had to plead and beg, if she needed to use those memories, she would. She would do anything to save their home for them. 

“The boys live here.”

“The boys.” Sudden fury flashed across his face. “How could I forget?”

“They have a home here.” Why did the memory of her boys make him angry? They were only three the last time he saw them. They’d done nothing to warrant any anger. She forced herself to continue, trying to find a foothold to negotiate with this man. “I’m…I’m their mother.”

“Actually, you’re not, are you?” The dark gaze pinned her to the floor. “Their mother was a whore, wasn’t she?”

“Don’t say that.” Rage wiped away any impulse to negotiate. “It’s not true—”

“I speak only the truth.” The long, elegant fingers of his hands tightened into fists. He glowered at the old man sagging in his chair. “The boys aren’t yours, Drakos. Did you know that?”

The words blasted into the room like torches of fire. Her stepfather jerked in his seat, and if it were possible, his skin whitened even further. “What the hell are you insinuating?”

“I’m not insinuating anything. I’m telling you.”

The fear in her blood raced, roared, and Tamsin thought she might faint. “What are you telling us?”

“The boys.” Rafe looked right at her as he delivered the killing blow. “Are mine.”

 

Mandy Baggot, Kate Frost, and Kim Lawrence, these are the stories for you! Includes: enemies to lovers, second chance romance, forced proximity, fish out of water, fake relationship, revenge

New York’s premier architect, Alexander Stravoudas has built a flawless life—successful firm, devoted family, and the perfect fiancée who fits neatly into his carefully designed world. But when the life he constructed begins to feel like a prison, an unexpected force threatens to dismantle everything he thought he wanted—and reveal the man he’s been afraid to become.

A ruthless billionaire with walls built around his heart, Aetos Zenos thought he had the perfect marriage arrangement—a pretend wife who never demanded his time, emotions, or attention—until a curious reporter hiding in his mansion forces him to confront the wounds of his past and discover what a real perfect wife might be.

A powerful man seeking vengeance for his father's death, Raphael Vounó refuses to believe in second chances until fate reunites him with the one woman who broke his heart—and the nephews he never knew existed.

A rising star in New York’s pastry world, Sophie Feuer has built her success on talent, grit, and an unflinching honesty that cuts through pretense. Fiercely independent and unimpressed by power or polish, she has no patience for carefully constructed lives—until one impeccably controlled architect challenges everything she instinctively resists.

A resourceful journalist on the run from her family's dangerous past, Natalie Globenko never planned to impersonate a billionaire's fictional wife, but when she discovers the wounded soul beneath Aetos Zenos's cold exterior, she risks everything to prove that what started as the perfect lie might become the perfect marriage.

Fiercely devoted to her half-brothers and haunted by the sacrifice that tore her from her first love, Tamsin Drakos must decide whether to risk her heart again when Raphael returns demanding custody—and revenge.

The Perfect trilogy represents different phases of my journey as a writer, with each book emerging from a unique place in my life and creative development.

A Perfect Man marked a significant turning point in my writing career—the first time characters flowed onto the page with an ease I hadn't experienced before. I'll admit I became slightly enamored with a contestant on American Idol that season, and some of Alex's physical attributes (those unforgettable turquoise eyes!) might have been inspired by watching him perform week after week. Sophie remains one of my favorite characters—the kind of friend I wish I had in real life—brutally honest, fiercely loyal, and someone who would definitely call me on my nonsense while feeding me incredible pastries.

By contrast, A Perfect Wife emerged from one of the darkest periods of my life. Like Natalie, I felt caught in a trap of obligation and financial pressure, unsure of how to break free from circumstances that seemed to be closing in around me. During this difficult time, reading became my sanctuary—I devoured stories where characters faced overwhelming odds yet somehow found their way to happiness. This novel became my own exploration of how two people might find each other despite their wounds and walls, the kind of story I desperately needed to read: one where love becomes not a trap, but the very thing that sets us free.

With A Perfect Love, I ventured briefly into new territory. While I once won the Romance Writers of America's prestigious Golden Heart award with a romantic suspense manuscript (which remains unpublished because suspense isn't truly where my passion lies), this novel represents my one foray into storytelling with suspenseful elements—featuring blackmail, betrayal, and hidden family secrets—but wrapped within my signature emotional style. It's as close as I'll ever get to writing suspense, as my heart belongs to crafting deeply emotional contemporary romances where the greatest danger is to the characters' hearts rather than their lives!

Creating this trilogy was truly a labor of love through various phases of my writing journey. From finding my stride as an author to working through personal challenges to experimenting with different storytelling approaches, these books reflect my growth both as a writer and as a person. I hope you enjoy watching these characters find their way to each other as much as I enjoyed creating their stories.

1. A Perfect Man*

2. A Perfect Wife*

3. A Perfect Love*

*all stories are standalone and can be read in any order

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