Greek Mavericks: Giving Her Heart To The Greek. Jennifer Taylor

hate these things,” he muttered as he escorted her to the brightly decorated ballroom. “We should have stayed in.”

      Too late to leave. People were noting their entrance.

      “Do you mind if I...?” she asked as she spotted the ladies’ room off to the right. She could only imagine how she looked.

      A muscle pulsed in his jaw, like he didn’t want her out of his sight, but after one dismayed heartbeat he said, “I’ll be at the bar.”

      Reeling under an onslaught of gratitude and confusion and yearning, she hurried to the powder room and moved directly to the mirror to check her makeup. She felt like a disaster, but had only a couple of smudges to dab away.

      “Synchórisi,” the woman next to her said, gaze down as she fiddled with the straps on her shimmery black dress. Releasing a distinctly British curse she said, “My Greek is nonexistent. Is there any chance you speak English?”

      Viveka straightened from the mirror, taking a breath to gather her composure. “I do.”

      “Oh, you’re upset.” The woman was a delicate blonde and her smile turned concerned. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

      “No, I’m fine,” she dismissed with a wobbly smile. The woman was doing her a favor, not letting her dwell on all the mixed emotions coursing through her. “Not the bad kind of crying.”

      “Oh, did he do something nice?” she asked with a pleased grin. “Because husbands really ought to, now and again.”

      “He’s not my husband, but...” Viveka thought of Mikolas saving her and thanking her for the wedding debacle. Her heart wobbled again and she had to swallow back a fresh rush of emotion. “He did.”

      “Good. I’m Clair, by the way.” She offered her free hand to shake while her other hand stayed against her chest, the straps of her halter-style bodice dangling over her slender fingers.

      “Viveka. Call me Vivi.” Eyeing the straps, she guessed, “Wardrobe malfunction?”

      “The worst! Is there any chance you have a pin?”

      “I don’t. Can you tie them?” She circled her finger in the air. “Turn around. Let’s see what happened to the catch.”

      They quickly determined the catch was long gone and they were too short to tie.

      “I bet a tiepin would hold it. Give me a minute. I’ll ask Mikolas for his,” Viveka offered.

      “Good idea, but ask my husband,” Clair said. “Then I won’t have to worry about returning it.”

      Viveka chuckled. “Let me guess. Your husband is the man in the suit?” She thumbed toward the ballroom filled with a hundred men wearing ties and jackets.

      Clair grinned. “Mine’s easy to spot. He’s the one with a scar here.” She touched her cheek, drawing a vertical line. “Also, he’s holding my purse. I needed two hands to keep myself together long enough to get in here or I would have texted him to come help me.”

      “Got it. I’ll be right back.”

      * * *

      Mikolas stood with the back of his hand pressed to a scotch on the rocks. So much for behaving mainstream and law-abiding, he thought dourly.

      He was watching for Viveka, still worried about her. When she had apologized, he’d been floored, already kicking himself for bringing her downstairs at all. He could be at home making love to her, none of this having happened. Instead, he’d let her be terrorized.

      There she was. He tried to catch her eye, but she scanned the room, then made for a small group in the far corner from the band.

      Mikolas swore under his breath as she approached his target: Aleksy Dmitriev. The Russian magnate had logistics interests that crossed paths with his own from the Aegean through to the Black Sea. Dmitriev had never once returned Mikolas’s calls and it grated. He hated being the petitioner and resented the other man for relegating him to that role.

      Mikolas knew why Dmitriev was avoiding him. He was scrupulous about his reputation. He wouldn’t risk sullying it by attaching himself to the Petrides name.

      While Mikolas knew working with Dmitriev would be another seal of legitimacy for his own organization. That’s why he wanted to partner with him.

      Dmitriev stared at Viveka like she was from Mars, then handed her his drink. He removed his tiepin, handed it to her, then took back his glass. When she asked him something else, he nodded at a window ledge where a pocketbook sat. Viveka scooped it up and headed back to the ladies’ room.

      What the hell?

      * * *

      Viveka was thankful for the small drama that Clair had provided, but flashed right back to seesaw emotions when she returned to Mikolas’s side. He stood out without trying. He wore that look of disinterest that alpha wolves wore with their packs, confident in his superiority so with nothing to prove.

      A handful of men in sharp suits had clustered around him. They all wore bored-looking women on their arms.

      Mikolas interrupted the conversation when she arrived. He took her hand and made a point of introducing her.

      She smiled, but the man who’d been speaking was quick to dismiss her and continue what he was saying. He struck her as the toady type who sucked up to powerful men in hopes of catching scraps. The way the women were held like dogs on a leash was very telling, too.

      Viveka let her gaze stray to the other groups, seeing the dynamic was very different in Clair’s circle, where she was nodding at whoever was speaking, smiling and fully engaged in the conversation. Her husband was looking their way and she pressed a brief smile onto her mouth.

      Nothing.

      Mikolas had been right about invisible barriers.

      “This must be your new bride if the merger has gone through,” one of the other men broke in to say, frowning with confusion as he jumped his gaze between her and Mikolas.

      I have a name, Viveka wanted to remind the man, but apparently on this side of the room, she was a “this.”

      “No,” Mikolas replied, offering no further explanation.

      Viveka wanted to roll her eyes. It was basic playground etiquette to act friendly if you wanted to be included in the games. That was what he wanted, wasn’t it? Was this what he had meant when he had said it was her task to change how he was viewed?

      “I stopped the wedding,” she blurted. “He was supposed to marry my sister, but...” She cleared her throat as she looked up at Mikolas, laughing inwardly at the ridiculous claim she was about to make. “I fell head over heels. You weren’t far behind me, were you?”

      Mikolas wore much the same incredulous expression he had when he’d lifted her veil.

      “Your sister can’t be happy about that,” one of the women said, perking up for the first time.

      “She’s fine with it,” Viveka assured with a wave. “She’d be the first to say you should follow your heart, wouldn’t she?” she prodded Mikolas, highly entertained with her embellishment on the truth. Laugh with me, she entreated.

      “Let’s dance.” His grip on her hand moved to her elbow and he turned her toward the floor. As he took her in his arms seconds later, he said, “I cannot believe you just said that.”

      “Oh, come on. You said we should appear long-term. Now they think we’re in love and by the way, your friends are a pile of sexist jerks.”

      “I don’t have friends,” he growled. “Those are people whose names I know.”

      His touch on her seemed to crackle and spark, making her feel sensitized all over. At the same time, she thought she heard something in his tone that was a warning.

      Dancing