Greek Mavericks: Winning The Enigmatic Greek. Tara Pammi

windows reflected back the different hues of sea and sky so that Keeley’s first impression was that everything looked so blue. As blue as Ariston’s eyes, she found herself thinking, before reminding herself furiously that she wasn’t here to fantasise about him.

      And then, as if she had conjured him up from her restless imagination, she saw the Greek tycoon standing at one of the vast windows on the first floor of the house. Standing watching her—his stance as unmoving as a statue. A ripple of unwilling awareness ran through her body as she stared up at him because even at a distance he dominated everything. Even though she was surrounded by so much natural beauty and the kind of scenery she hadn’t seen in a long time it still took a huge effort to drag her gaze away from him. And she mustn’t be seen ogling him like some helpless fan-girl. Hadn’t she made that mistake once before? And look where that had got her. This was her chance to redeem herself and the only way she could achieve that was by remaining immune to him and his effortless charisma. To show him she no longer wanted him—that ship had sailed—because she wasn’t into cruel billionaires who treated you with zero respect.

      The car stopped and Stelios opened the door and Keeley could smell lemons and pine and the salty tang of the nearby sea as she stepped onto the sun-baked courtyard.

      ‘Here’s Demetra,’ said Stelios as a middle-aged woman in a crisp white uniform began walking through the shimmering heat towards them. ‘She’s the cook—but basically she’s in charge! Even Ariston listens when Demetra speaks. She’ll show you to your accommodation. You’re pretty lucky to be staying here,’ he observed. ‘All the other staff live in the village.’

      ‘Thank you.’ Keeley turned to him in surprise. ‘You speak perfect English!’

      ‘Pretty much. I lived in London for a while. Used to drive taxis for a living.’ Stelios gave an inscrutable smile. ‘Though the boss doesn’t like me to publicise it too much.’

      No, she’d bet he didn’t. A silent but understanding driver would be an asset for a control freak like Ariston, thought Keeley wryly. Someone able to eavesdrop on the conversation of his English-speaking guests should the need arise. Yet she heard the obvious affection in the driver’s voice as he referred to his boss and wondered what the autocratic ship-owner had ever done to deserve it, apart from be born with a silver spoon in his mouth. But everyone liked you when you had money, she reminded herself. The world was full of hangers-on who were mesmerised by the lure of wealth. The same hangers-on who would drop you like a hot potato when all that wealth had gone.

      She smiled as the cook approached, reminding herself it was important to be accepted by the people she was going to be working with and to show them she wasn’t afraid of hard work.

      ‘Kalispera, Demetra,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘I’m Keeley. Keeley Turner.’

      ‘Kalispera,’ said the cook, looking pleased. ‘You speak Greek?’

      ‘Not really. Only a couple of phrases.’ Keeley pulled a face. ‘But I’d love to learn more. Do you speak English?’

      ‘Neh. Kyrios Kavakos likes all his staff to speak English.’ She smiled. ‘We help each other. Come. I show you your house.’

      Keeley followed the cook down a narrow sandy path leading directly to the beach, until they reached a small whitewashed cottage. She could hear the waves lapping against the shore and could see the moving glimmer of sunlight on the water, but, although she was surrounded by so much beauty, all she could remember was the uproar and the chaos. Because wasn’t it over there beside that crop of rocks that Ariston pulled her into his arms for that tantalisingly sweet taste of pleasure, before thrusting her away again? She closed her eyes as goosebumps shivered over her bare arms, despite the heat of the day. How could the memory of something which had happened so long ago still be so vivid?

      ‘You like it?’ questioned Demetra, obviously misinterpreting her silence.

      ‘Oh, gosh, yes. It’s...beautiful,’ said Keeley quickly.

      Demetra smiled. ‘Oreos. All Lasia is oreos. Come to the house when you are ready and I show you everything.’

      After Demetra had gone, Keeley went inside the cottage—leaving the door open so she could hear the waves as she set about exploring her temporary home. It didn’t take long to get her bearings because, although it was small and compact, it was still bigger than her home in London. There was a sitting room and a small kitchen, while upstairs was a bedroom with space for little more than a large bed. The bathroom was surprisingly sophisticated and the whole place was simple and clean, with walls painted white and completely bare of decoration. But the light which flooded into every room was incredible—bright and clear and shot with the dancing reflection of the waves. Who needed pictures on the walls when you had that?

      Keeley unpacked, showered and changed into shorts and a T-shirt—and was just making her way downstairs when she saw Ariston walking towards her cottage. And try as she might, she could do nothing to prevent the powerful squeeze of her heart and the molten tug deep inside her.

      She wanted to turn away. To close her eyes and shut him out...yet she wanted to watch him like the rerun of a favourite TV show. The powerful thrust of his thighs as he walked. The broadness of his shoulders and the bunched muscle of his arms. The way his white T-shirt contrasted with the darkness of his olive skin. Her mouth dried as she noticed the narrow band of skin showing above the low-slung waistband of his faded jeans. Because this was Ariston as she remembered him—not wearing a sophisticated suit which seemed to constrain him, but looking as if he could have just finished work on one of the fishing boats.

      He was the most alpha male she’d ever seen but it was vital he didn’t guess she thought that way. She was going to have to respond to him indifferently—betraying none of her uneasy emotions whenever he came close. She needed to pretend he was just like any other man—even though he wasn’t. Because no other man had ever made her feel this way. She sucked in an unsteady breath as he approached, because the most important thing she needed to remember was that she didn’t actually like him.

      ‘So. Here you are,’ he observed, his blue eyes moving over her with their strange, cold fire.

      ‘Here I am.’ Feeling curiously insubstantial, she tugged at the hem of her T-shirt. ‘You sound surprised.’

      ‘Maybe I am. Part of me wondered whether you might change your mind at the last minute and not bother coming.’

      ‘Should I have done?’ She fixed him with a questioning gaze. ‘Would it have been wiser to have dismissed your generous job offer and carried on with my life the way it was, Kyrios Kavakos?’

      As she stared at him so fearlessly, her bright green eyes so cat-like and entrancing, Ariston thought about the answers he could have given her. If she was someone he cared about he would have told her that, yes, she should have stayed well away from his island and the doomed orbit of a man like him. But the point was that he didn’t care. She was a commodity. A woman he intended to seduce and finish what she had started all those years ago. Why warn her to be on her guard against something which was going to bring them both a great deal of pleasure?

      And closure, he reminded himself grimly. Because wasn’t closure equally important?

      He stared at the thick pale hair which hung in a twisted rope over one shoulder, wondering why he found it so difficult to tear his eyes away from her. He’d known women more beautiful. He’d certainly known women more suitable than some washed-up ex-party-girl with dollar signs in her eyes. Yet knowing that did nothing to diminish her impact on him. Her lush breasts were pushing against a T-shirt the colour of the lemons which grew in the hills behind the house and a pair of cotton shorts skimmed her shapely hips and legs. She’d slipped her bare feet into a pair of sparkly flip-flops so that she looked unexpectedly carefree—and young—as if she hadn’t made the slightest effort to impress him with her appearance and the unexpectedness of this made desire spiral up inside him even more.

      ‘No, I think you’re in exactly the right place,’ he said evenly. ‘So let’s go into the house and I’ll show you around. I think you’ll find